










































































































































































Margie Hargrave: 


AND 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


BY MRS. M. E. C. WYETH. 



AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

150 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK. 

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COPYRIGHT, 1878, 

BY AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 


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CONTENTS. 

MARGIE HARGRAVE. 

CHAPTER I. 

March Winds page 5 

CHAPTER II. 

Summer Work 19 

CHAPTER III. 

Planting Sharon’s Rose 31 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Lord of the Garden -- - 46 

CHAPTER V. 

Thanksgiving — - 55 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Christmas Tree 64 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 

CHAPTER I. 

A Little Slang - - 77 

CHAPTER II. 

What Came of It 83 

CHAPTER III. 

Lily’s Mistake— 93 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Lily’s Trialation - 102 

CHAPTER V. 

Lily’s Good Cheer 109 

CHAPTER VI. 

Harry’s Excursion- 116 

CHAPTER VII. 

Harry’s Experiment 126 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Harry’s Holidays - - 137 

CHAPTER IX. 

Lily’s Christmas Blessing 148 

CHAPTER X. 

The Parsonage Doves 158 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Christmas Necklaces 176 

CHAPTER XII. 

Happy New Year 197 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


CHAPTER I. 

MARCH WINDS. 

Imagine a wide kitchen, with an open fire- 
place in which logs of oak and hickory wood 
are brightly burning. A plain pine table, 
freshly scoured, stands in front of the fire- 
place. Upon it lies an open Bible, with a 
partly-knitted stocking and a ball of yarn 
placed upon its divided pages. The lamp in 
the middle of the table seems hardly needed, 
for the firelight shines so gayly, lighting every 
corner of the room, and shedding its cheerful 
glow upon the children’s faces. 

Children in this picture ? Why not, 
indeed ? On the low cushioned lounge drawn 


6 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


near the chimney-corner lies little Alice 
curled up like a kitten, watching the glowing 
embers under the logs. In one corner of the 
ample fireside, her brown eyes looking trou- 
bled to-night, sits Margie, a girl of nine, while 
opposite her, on a bench just large enough 
for two, sit the twin boys, Rob and Phil, just 
twelve years old and the exact image of each 
other. At the left hand of the chimney-place 
the door stands ajar, and through the open- 
ing a homely face peers into the room, as 
Aunt Elsie calls out, 

“ Hab patience, chillens. I ’ll be in dar 
soon ’s I smokes one leetle whiff more. Dese 
yere windy nights ’pears like one pipe don’t 
no ways satisfy.” 

Do you like the picture ? Then listen to 
the story. 

Mr. Hargrave, the father of Rob and 
Phil, Margie and Alice, had lived in a city 
nearly all his life. Only a year from the 
time our story begins, he had bought a farm 
in South Missouri, and had removed his little 


MARCH WINDS. 


7 


family to the low-roofed log-house that they 
now called home. It was a great change 
from the nice, well-furnished house on the 
avenue in the city, but fortune had gone all 
awry with Mr. Hargrave, of late years, and 
he was very glad to save enough out of his 
once large property to buy for himself the 
little farm in a far-away region, where land 
was cheap and a living to be had for the 
tilling of the ground. 

The children were ready, as children are, 
for the change, and the novelty of moving 
into the country, which they fancied to be a 
lovely plain, covered with strawberries and 
hedged in by hills and forests, where roved 
cows and sheep without number, and where 
grew blackberries, and grapes, and nuts, in 
delicious abundance. Mrs. Hargrave, if not 
so delighted with the change, was yet willing 
to leave the city and to try the experiment of 
making a home and a living on a farm ; and 
so, as I said, about a year before the night of 
our introduction to the family, they had 


8 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


taken possession of the log-house that stood 
in the middle of the small farm which Mr. 
Hargrave worked with his own hands. Mrs. 
Hargrave had her share of the labor too, as 
all farmers’ wives have, and she did the house- 
hold work, with the exception of the wash- 
ings, which Aunt Elsie, an old colored wom- 
an, who lived not far off, came every week to 
do. Mrs. Hargrave planned to have her 
washing done on Wednesdays, so that Aunt 
Elsie might remain over night with the chil- 
dren, thus affording their parents the pleasure 
of attending the weekly prayer-meeting that 
was held in the schoolhouse, about a mile 
away. Mrs. Hargrave said the prayer-meet- 
ing always rested her. 

It was Wednesday night, and the washing 
was snugly folded down in the great round 
ironing-basket, the supper things were cleared 
away, and Mr. and Mrs. Hargrave were gone 
to the distant schoolhouse, when the little 
circle of children gathered around the pleas- 
ant lire, as we saw them in our picture. 


MARCH WINDS. 


9 


It was near the close of the stormy month 
of March. This year it seemed stormier than 
ever to the Hargrave children as they gath- 
ered nightly round the ingle, and listened to 
the howling of the winds, the rattling of the 
loosely-fitting windows, the creaking of the 
rusty-hinged gates, and the forlorn sound of 
the leafless branches of the locust-trees as 
they were tossed against the eaves of the 
house. Margie and Phil were particularly 
averse to the voices of the winds, but Rob, 
who was somewhat of a poet, I should think, 
was never weary of listening to the grand old 
choruses of Boreas, old Zero, and the like. 
To-night, the wind blew in great eddying 
gusts, gathering force as they came across 
the farm-sprinkled prairies, and sighing and 
wailing as they drove on relentlessly toward 
the distant forest. Margie crouched nearer 
the fire as each fresh blast swept round the 
kitchen corner, rattling the little windows 
that she often declared were too little for any 
other use than to rattle on stormy nights. 

Margie Hargrave. , 2 


10 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


When Elsie put her head in the door, prom- 
ising to come soon, Margie looked ruefully 
towards the washroom, and said, 

“ I do n’t see why mamma likes to go to 
meeting on stormy nights. That old school- 
house door creaks awful, and there’s a pane 
of glass out, and it smokes and everything. 
I should n’t think it would rest her, when 
she ’s been starching and sprinkling and 
everything, all day.” 

Margie’s sentences were not constructed 
according to the strictest rules of grammar, 
but I suppose the wind had blown her rules 
all out of her head, if, indeed, she had ever 
had them in. Phil understood her meaning, 
however, without the aid of rules, and an- 
swered, according to her model, 

“ Neither should I ; but then, folks a’ n’t 
alike. My! Wasn’t that a screecher? I 
’spect our marten-box ’ll come down next. 
One good thing, she ’s got her woollen hood, 
and the big brown veil, so she can’t hear so 
plain, and papa always walks either before or 


MARCH WINDS. 


ii 


behind, or which ever way it blows, so as to 
break it off. I wish Elsie ’d hurry up.” 

Phil edged a little closer to Rob, who 
was whittling a stick, and not seeming to mind 
the great blow that was going on outside. 
Certain it was that the wind had not suc- 
ceeded in scattering Rob’s parts of speech, 
for he looked up, and quite properly request- 
ed Phil to move a little farther from his el- 
bow. Phil glanced uneasily towards the 
washroom door, and rather reluctantly moved 
a very little. 

“ Sit over there by Alice,” said Rob, “ and 
I ’ll tell you what the wind says. Hear that, 
now?” and Rob, who was a capital mimic, 
imitated the rise and swell and fall of the 
blast, as he intoned the words, “ So poor , so 
poor , oh-oh-oh, o-o, o-o, o-o, so poor . Do lit 
scorn the p-o-o-o-orS 

Margie shuddered, and wondered if she 
ever had scorned the poor. Elsie came in 
just then, and at that moment a fierce, high 
gust came shrieking around the corner, and 


12 


MARGIE MARGRAVE . 


seemed to break right over the farmhouse 
gable, for it sent a great puff of smoke down 
the chimney and out at the wide-mouthed 
fireplace. 

“There!” said Rob, his voice coming in 
surges from his chest, “ I heard it just as plain, 
‘Feed the hungry; warm the freezing. In- 
asmuch as ye have done it unto the least of 
these my brethren, ye have done it unto 
me.’ ” 

“O Rob!” said Margie, “you oughtn’t. 
That ’s in the Bible. Jesus said that in the 
Bible.” 

“ I know it,” said Rob. “ He said it just 
now, in the wind, too.” 

Phil looked up as if he did n’t quite know 
what to make of him, but Rob was whittling 
away in earnest, and neither laughed nor 
frowned. Presently little Alice spoke from 
her corner on the lounge : 

“ There ’s another wind, Robbie. What 
did that say? It seems to speak to us very 
loud and plain. I ’ll ‘ remember the poor,’ and 








MARCH WINDS. 




give my new ten cents to old Jimmy, to-mor- 
row, on account of that last wind.” 

Old Jimmy was a very poor lame man 
who lived not far from Mr. Hargrave’s, and 
who made his living by driving teams for the 
farmers occasionally, and doing little odd jobs 
when he could get them. He was very in- 
firm, however, and in winter time he often 
needed the help of the charitable. Little 
Alice thought of poor old Jimmy at once, 
when Robby wailed out, “Feed the hungry; 
warm the freezing;” and she inwardly re- 
solved to obey the voice that Rob said was 
to be heard in the wind. Alice was Rob’s 
pet sister; and as soon as she spoke, he 
threw down his stick and said, “Come, sit in 
Rob’s lap and listen to a nice little story, all 
out of the winds.” Alice ran to her brother 
and jumped into his lap; and, with her lit- 
tle clinging arms around his neck, Rob be- 
gan : 

“ That ’s a fine breeze to start with, now. 
This is what it says : 


14 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


“ ‘ Pretty near done with sno-o-ow ! 

Haven’t many more weeks to blo-o-ow! 

Should n’t think it would bother you so 1 

Are n’t you sorry to have me go ? 

Say Good-by to old Zero !’ ” 

“ Oh, say another, Robby !” said Alice, 
laughing gayly. Margie’s face looked bright- 
er, too, and Aunt Elsie, seated square in front 
of the fire, fairly shook with laughter at Rob’s 
droll translation of the March winds. 

“ Dat a’ n’t de way J’se heerd it, chile,” 
said she. “ Dat a’ n’t de way I ’se heerd it. 
Do n’t say your way a’ n’t de bestest, how- 
somedever.” 

“What did you hear, Aunt Elsie?” asked 
Phil. 

“ Oh, g’long, chile,” said Elsie. “’T a’ n’t 
no kind o’ use pesterin’ ’bout what I ’se heerd. 
Listen to yer brother.” 

So Rob went on : “ Hark, now, to that 
fine blow ! 

“‘We ’re most tired of pinching noses, 

Stinging ears and nipping toeses. 

Guess we ’ll try some gentle breezes, 

Swelling buds out on the treeses, 


MARCH WINDS . 


*5 

Opening out the spring-time posies, 

Coaxing up the summer roses. 

March winds never blow for malice ; 

We ’re good friends to little Alice.’ ” 

They were all laughing by this time, and 
Phil said the spring was coming, sure enough, 
for he had found a spring-beauty under a heap 
of leaves in the south pasture. 

“ And I know where there ’s a lot of vio- 
lets up,” said Margie. 

“ And I know where there ’s a lot of ap- 
ples up,” said Rob ; “ up on the dresser, and 
I feel like roasting some of them before this 
jolly fire.” 

Soon Rob had a nice lot of apples hang- 
ing by threads from the mantel and twirling 
round and round before the open fire. The 
children, busied in watching their apples 
roast, forgot the howling winds, and were 
merrily chatting, when the outer door open- 
ed, and their papa and mamma entered the 
room, none the worse for their long tramp in 
the blustering gale. 


1 6 MARGIE HARGRAVE. 

“ We are a little late,” said Mrs. Har- 
grave, “but we stopped to see old Jimmy. 
He was poorly, and your father split some 
wood for him, and we tidied up the room 
and made it a little more comfortable. I 
hope, boys, that you will rise early to-mor- 
row and carry some breakfast to him. I saw 
nothing in his cupboard but some broken 
pieces of dry food. I do n’t think he can 
have had a cup of coffee very lately, judging 
from the looks of his little tin coffeepot.” 

“ Let us go now,” cried Rob and Phil. 
“We can cut across the field in five minutes.” 

“ I 'll go ’long wid ’em,” said Elsie, rising 
and pouring a pitcher of cold coffee into a 
tin pail which she placed upon some glowing 
coals. “ Dat ar coffee ’ll be bilin’ by de time 
I ties up myself in my big shawl.” 

“ Take our roast apples,” said Margie and 
Alice at once. 

Mrs. Hargrave made no objection, but 
began to pack a small basket with bread and 
meat and butter and a nice applepie. Rob 


MARCH WINDS, 


l 7 


and Phil put on their caps and coats and 
mittens, and in a minute were ready to start, 
munching their hot roast apples as they 
waited for Elsie, who was a little slower in 
her motions than they. 

“Ye see I heerd de Lord’s gospel to- 
night,” said Elsie to Mrs. Hargrave. “ De 
winds an’ de waves obey him, an’ out of de 
moufs of babes an’ sucklins he hab perfected 
praise. Arter dat ar what Rob heerd in de 
wind, I could n’t sleep a wink ef I did n’t tote 
dis coffee to dat poor lone critter.” 

“ She means that about ‘Ye have done it 
unto me,’ in the Bible, you know,” said Mar- 
gie. “ Rob heard the winds say it.” 

Mrs. Hargrave smiled. She knew Rob’s 
way. 

When Rob and Phil and Aunt Elsie re- 
turned, the stars were shining and the winds 
had ceased to blow. The cheerful fire seem- 
ed to them brighter than ever as they en- 
tered the warm kitchen, and repeated to the 
family old Jimmy’s grateful thanks. 

3 


Margie Hargi aye 


18 MARGIE HARGRAVE. 

“ He must have been hearing the winds 
too,” said Phil, “ for he said that very same 
verse to us when we were coming away.” 

“ It ’s wonderful,” said Margie; “it’s like 
being in church in the kitchen and hearing 
the winds for a minister.” 

“ The winds are His ministers,” said Mrs. 
Hargrave ; and with that sweet thought in 
their minds the children went to their beds, 
and, I doubt not, dreamed pleasant dreams. 


SUMMER WORK. 


x 9 


CHAPTER II* 

SUMMER WORK. 

March winds had ceased to blow ; April 
showers had brought May flowers, and May 
had placed her flowery crown upon the rosy 
brow of June, and June had covered all the 
landscape with her beauty, and she too had 
followed in the vanishing procession of the 
months. - 

July had come. The hay was cut, and 
the golden wheat-fields waved in ripening 
beauty over Mr. Hargrave’s fertile acres. 
Soon the great mower and reaper would be- 
gin to sound its busy whir-r-r up and down 
the fields, and the binders and stookers would 
follow in its wake, and last would come the 
stackers and the thrashers, and the harvest 
would be over. 

It was a very busy time on the Hargrave 
farm. Wheat-harvest is always a busy time 


20 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


with farmers. The farmers’ wives have more 
to do at this season of the year than at other 
times, for it is the usual custom for the hired 
men who help the farmers gather in their 
crops to board in the farmer’s family while 
at work for him. 

Mr. Hargrave had engaged four men to 
help him during harvest, and of course this 
added greatly to Mrs. Hargrave’s cares. It 
was grand weather for the ripening grain. 
The sun shone, and the prairie flowers held 
up their bright faces and tossed their glow- 
ing colors to his light, and the tasselling corn- 
fields waved their greenness joyfully. All 
nature seemed to sing 

“ I love the merry, merry sunshine .’ 1 

Mr. Hargrave’s twin boys loved it too. 
They liked the green fields and the growing 
grain. They delighted in the summer work 
of the country. They enjoyed the early 
morning walk to bring the cows from the 
distant pasture, and they enjoyed equally the 


SUMMER WORK. 


2 I 


sunset herding of the cattle. They had 
found the country in many ways far different 
from what they had fancied it to be before 
they moved from the city ; but I think, on 
the whole, they were quite satisfied with the 
beautiful country that God had made. They 
grew stout and rosy-cheeked, and were as 
sunburnt, before May was out, as any of the 
country boys who had lived all their lives 
under the bright skies and out in the open air. 

Margie and Alice liked the new home, 
but in a milder way than did the boys. 
They could n’t get over their fear of snakes, 
and were afraid to go very far from the door- 
yard, or out of the well-beaten cattle-paths. 
Still they had ventured, more than once, into 
the meadows to gather flowers and strawber- 
ries, and had sometimes rambled in the grove, 
on the edge of which was built the district 
schoolhouse, in which they were taught. 

On the first of July, however, school 
closed, and for the next two months the 
scholars were to have vacation. The boys, 


22 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


for the most part, were to work in the har- 
vest-fields, and the girls to assist about the 
various duties of the house. In farming 
communities the school-children do not, as a 
general thing, go on summer excursions to 
watering-places during the holidays, as many 
city children do. I believe they have just 
about as good a time, though. Their pleas- 
ures are simple, but hearty and wholesome. 
Kissed by the sun, caressed by the breezes, 
their limbs made active by healthful labor, 
and their appetite fed by nourishing food, 
they work and play and sleep and grow as 
God means children should do. 

One morning, early in July, as Mrs. Har- 
grave stood at the table near the open kitch- 
en window, rolling out pastry, while Margie 
and Alice were stemming a pan of cherries — 
for the harvesters were to come to-day, and 
there was to be much cooking done — Mr 
Hargrave, passing by the window, stopped 
to say to his wife that the wheat was in 
prime condition for harvesting, and that if he 


SUMMER WORK. 23 

got it in the stack as well as he hoped to do, 
he should feel a hundred per cent, better off 
than he was last harvest. 

Mrs. Hargrave smiled and said, “ We have 
everything for which to be thankful.” 

“ Not everything, mamma,” said Margie, 
as her father passed on to his work. “ You 
forget that we have n’t any Sunday-school.” 

“True,” said her mamma, “yet we have 
the Bible, and our dear children, at least, 
have religious instruction. Yet I, too, wish 
we might have a Sunday-school.” 

Now, though there was preaching every 
Sunday in the district schoolhouse, and a 
prayer-meeting every Wednesday night, yet 
there had never been a settled minister of 
the gospel in that neighborhood. The preach- 
ing was done by the pastors of the different 
churches in the neighboring villages. They 
had made an arrangement to take turns in 
keeping up the worship of God in this dis- 
trict, and so, one Sunday, the Baptist minis- 
ter from the town of W. would conduct di- 


24 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


vine services ; and the next, the Methodist 
minister did the same, and the next, the Pres- 
byterian from the village of D. preached the 
gospel, and the next Sunday the Congrega- 
tional minister from the same village would 
do his part in the good work. Meantime the 
Christian people in the community were pray- 
ing that God would send them the means of 
building a meetinghouse in which to gather a 
church. But the farms were few and far be- 
tween, and most of the people were poor, and 
the time seemed yet far off, even to the most 
hopeful, when they should have a place of 
worship and a pastor. 

Ever since the Hargraves had moved to 
this locality, Margie had longed and prayed 
for a Sunday-school. She had said little 
about it, but she had never forgotten to pray 
that God would provide one. 

I think she must have been talking to 
some of her little friends at the school, how- 
ever, about her own loved Sunday-school, for 
she answered her mother, 


SUMMER WORK. 


2 5 


“Yes, mamma, but there are other chil- 
dren who do n’t have, and they would like to 
be taught the Bible and our pretty hymns, 
and to have nice concerts, and say verses 
and the Commandments; and I know ten 
girls who would always come, if we only had 
a Sunday-school.” 

“ I suppose there are children enough,” 
said Mrs. Hargrave, “but where the teachers 
are to come from, I can’t think.” 

“ Papa and you would be two,” began 
Margie, “ and Miss Betty Gaylord, and Mr. 
Hunt, and — and — ” 

“ Those are all I can possibly think of 
myself,” said Mrs. Hargrave. “ It does n’t 
look very encouraging; but we will hope for 
the best. These fine rich lands must soon 
be settled, and we will pray God to send us 
Christian families.” 

“ There ’s never even been a Sunday- 
school missionary here, such as used to come 
to our city Sunday-school, and tell about 
visiting destitute places, and starting schools 
4 


Margie Hargrave. 


26 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


in log-houses, and giving library books, and 
all that. I wish one would come here.” 

She did not know that God had already 
found a Sunday-school missionary, who was 
to do great things in His name, in that very 
place, and in that house. 

By-and-by dinner-time came, and the hun- 
gry harvesters gathered around the well-spread 
table on the shady porch, and refreshed them- 
selves with Mrs. Hargrave’s nicely cooked 
dinner. After the meal was over, while the 
men were resting on the porch, Margie asked 
one, whom the rest called Dike, and with 
whom she was pretty well acquainted, as he 
had often worked for Mr. Hargrave before, 
whether he had ever been to* Sunday-school. 

“No,” said he; “that sort war n’t pop’lar 
whar 1 was raised.” 

“ Nor any other sort, I guess,” whispered 
Phil to Robbie. 

Margie looked disappointed, and the man, 
noticing it, said, “And what made you take 
me for a Sunday-school chap?” 


SUMMER WORK . 


27 


“You sing so nice,” said Margie, “I’ve 
heard you sing ‘ Rosalie, the Prairie Flower.’ ” 

“Yes I can sing some,” the man replied. 

“ I wish you could sing Sunday hymns,” 
said Margie. 

“Is ‘ Title clear ’ one of ’em?” asked 
Dike. 

“Yes,” said Margie slowly, “if you sing 
it to this tune,” and she sang the first verse, 
with the chorus : 

“I do bfelieve, I now believe, 

That Jesus died for me, 

And on the cross he shed his blood, 

From sin to set me free.” 

“Well that’s a pretty tune,” said Dike; 
“ sing it over again, and I ’ll know it perfect 
by that time. I ’m a master-hand to catch 
the turn of a tune.” 

Dike pronounced the word “ tune ” as if 
it were spelled tchewn , much to Robbie’s 
and Phil’s amusement. But Margie did n’t 
notice it, and she sang the verse again, and 
when she came to the chorus, Dike joined 


28 MARGIE HARGRAVE. 

in, and his rich, musical voice rang loud and 
clear on the prairie breeze as he sang. 

“ Can you sing ‘ Come to Jesus,’ if I start 
it for you ?” asked Margie, when they had 
finished — 

“When I can read my title clear.” 

“ I reckon,” said Dike ; “ I never heard 
it, but I ’low I could larn it.” 

Margie ran into the house for her little 
hymn-book. Finding the hymn, she gave 
the book to Dike, and she sang the first verse 
over twice, by herself. At the beginning of 
of the second verse, Dike’s voice joined in, 
and Mr. Hargrave and Robbie and Phil, 
from under the locust-tree, added their voices, 
and the music sounded so sweet that the 
tired mother left the unwashed dishes, while 
she came to the porch-door and united with 
the rest in the singing of the entire hymn. 

“Well now, that’s nice,” said the man 
who owned the mower. “ Teach him anoth- 
er one, little miss, can’t you ? He leads off 


SUMMER WORK . 


2 g 


masterful. We Ve got just about ten min- 
utes more of nooning.” 

O 

So Margie turned over to the hymn, 

“ Come to the Sunday-school.” 

And presently Dike had learned that, and 
all the family again joined in singing, 

“ Come to the Sunday-school, we really wish you would, 
Wont you come and join a class? We ’ll surely do you 
good. 

Bright eyes and happy hearts, and voices sweet and clear, 
Just walk in and look around, you ’ll surely find them 
here. 

Come then, for now ’s the time, 

Come, in your youthful prime, 

Come, while you ’re free from crime, 

Come, come, come.” 

Mr. Hargrave sang bass to this, and Mrs. 
Hargrave alto, and the effect was very pleas- 
ing. The men said they enjoyed the singing 
as well as they had the dinner, and that both 
were tiptop. 

“Now if we only had a Sunday-school, 
and you would lead the singing, what a good 
thing that would be,” said Margie. 


30 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


Well,” laughed Dike, “ I a’ n’t no ways 
used to that sort, but, tell you what, you git 
the Sunday-school started, and I ’ll make a 
hand at the singing.” 

“ Will you, certain sure?” cried Margie, 
with sparkling eyes. 

“ Sure ’s I ’m a sinner,” called out Dike, 
who was halfway to the barn. 

“ I do believe I can,” said Margie, half to 
herself, as she turned to answer her mother’s 
call. 

How little she knew what the good God 
had given her child-hands to do. Only a 
little nine-year-old girl, and yet she had a 
work for Jesus. 

And in that golden harvest-noon, Margie 
Hargrave began her summer work. 


PLANTING SHARON'S ROSE. 


3i 


CHAPTER III. 

PLANTING SHARON'S ROSE. 

It was quite early in the morning. Mrs. 
Hargrave was baking gingerbread and cream- 
cookies for the half-past-nine lunch, which 
she was to send out to the men in the har- 
vest-field. Alice was rolling out a little bit 
of cake-dough at one corner of the table, with 
a clothes-pin for a roller; and Margie was 
stringing snap-beans for the dinner. She 
had a large pan of harvest apples to pare for 
sauce, when the beans should be finished; 
and then she must wash the potatoes, and 
silk the corn, and pick over the salad greens. 

By the time all these duties were done, 
she knew it would be time to set the long 
table for dinner. For Margie knew that 
between-whiles she must run up stairs and 
down, and out to the barn and spring-house 


32 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


a good many times, on one errand or another, 
to save her over-worked mamma from extra 
steps. 

Margie had become quite a useful child. 
Although in their city home she had seldom 
seen the inside of the kitchen, yet since she 
had moved to the farm she had grown very 
familiar with kitchen-life, and even little Alice 
had learned to do many things to assist her 
mother. 

To-day, while Margie’s fingers vrorked 
away at the beans, her thoughts w^ere also 
busy. She w r as thinking of her much-loved 
Sunday-school, and how to get one “started,” 
as Dike said. “ It would n’t be any use,” she 
thought, “to get the girls and boys together 
in the schoolhouse, if there were no superin- 
tendent and teachers. I do wonder if papa 
would be superintendent. Mamma and Mr. 
Hunt and Miss Betty Gaylord w r ould be 
teachers enough to begin w r ith. Only to 
begin : maybe after a while some others might 
be found — Mrs. Nevins, perhaps. As soon 


PLANTING SNAP ON’S POST. 


33 


as mamma can spare me, I mean to go and 
ask her.” 

Margie did n’t talk much all the morn- 
ing, but as soon as dinner was over she got 
out her little hymn-book, and asked Dike if 
he wanted to learn “ Shining Shore,” and 
“Nearer, my God, to thee!” 

Dike did; and the best of it was, that 
when Dike once learned a hymn so that he 
could sing it through, he was sure of it, words, 
tune and all, ever afterwards. That noon he 
learned both those hymns and the one begin- 
ning, 

“ Not all the blood of beasts, 

On Jewish altars slain, 

Could give the guilty conscience peace, 

Or wash away its stain ;” 

with the chorus, 

“ I ’m glad salvation ’s free.” 

Then little Alice would have them all 
sing her favorite, 

“Jesus loves me.” 

Margie’s heart bounded with joyful sur- 
5 


Margie Hargrave. 


34 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


prise as Mr. Danvers, the man who owned 
the machine, asked her to sing again, 

“ Come to the Sunday-school.” 

“ That e’en a’ most made me wish we had 
a Sunday-school to go to,” he said. “ I used 
to teach a class of little girls, when I lived 
down in York state. Nice school it was we 
had there. We teachers used to have a sort 
of conference meeting after school, and study 
over the lesson for the next Sunday. Beats 
all, how you do git used to doin’ without 
things you can’t have.” 

“We ought n’t to get used to doing with- 
out a Sunday-school though,” said Margie. 
“ Besides, we can have one, if we can only 
get teachers enough.” 

“Well, I dunno,” said Mr. Danvers; 
“seems to me all the stiddy meetin’ goers 
might be counted on for teachers; I’m sure 
I ’d be willin’ to do my part.” 

Margie clapped her hands. 

“Now, papa,” she cried, “ wont you be 
superintendent?” 


PLANTING SNAP ON'S POSE. 


35 


“That is startling,” said Mr. Hargrave, 
laughing. “Superintendent of what , Margie 
dear?” 

“Oh, of our Sunday-school — Dike’s, and 
Mr. Danvers’ and mine.” 

“ Dike’s and Mr. Danvers’ and yours ? 
Well, that is enterprising. When are you 
expecting to open?” 

“ Next Sunday,” said Mr. Danvers prompt- 
ly, “good a time as any. What’s to hinder? 
Dike’s been practising psalm tunes all morn- 
ing. It ’ll seem like old times to get out our 
Testaments and read with the children again, 
‘Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem in 
Judea, in the days of Herod the king, behold 
there came wise men from the East to Je- 
rusalem, saying, Where is he that is born King 
of the Jews, for we have seen his star in the 
East and have come to worship him.’ Tell 
you what, I ’m in for the Sunday-school, and 
Superintendent Hargrave.” 

“ So am I,” said another of the men, who 
had been silent so far. 


36 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


“Well, my little girl,” said Mr. Hargrave, 
“ I don’t see but that you have fairly broken 
up the fallow ground.” 

That very afternoon, Margie got leave to 
call on Mrs. Nevins and Miss Gaylord, and 
tell them of her pet project. Both were de- 
lighted with it, and promised to work hard 
for a Sunday-school. Miss Gaylord engaged 
to see Mr Hunt and to visit several families, 
and ask their cooperation. Margie went 
home with a happy heart. 

Sunday came. The minister read the 
notices of the usual Wednesday evening 
prayer-meeting, and of the approaching cele- 
bration of the Lord’s Supper, and then he 
paused. 

“ I have yet another notice,” he contin- 
ued, after a moment, “ to which the little 
ones present are particularly invited to give 
attention. At three o’clock this afternoon, 
in this house, we hope to organize a Sunday- 
school. All the young people, yes, and all 
the old people, of this community, are urged 


PLANTING SNA PONS POST. 


37 


to be present punctual to the hour. We 
want to elect a superintendent and some offi- 
cers, and to consult with each other about 
the best time for holding the school, and to 
receive the volunteer offerings of teachers 
and scholars. I shall be with you on this 
glad occasion, and thank God that it has 
fallen to my lot to assist in the pleasant and 
sacred duty of planting among you, in the 
hearts of these dear little ones, the fair and 
fadeless Rose of Sharon.” 

A little flutter went all over the room, 
and there were many as bright eyes and 
bounding hearts as Margie Hargrave’s 
through the congregation. Three o’clock 
came, and promptly on hand were — guess 
how many — twenty girls, twelve boys, six- 
teen young men, and ten heads of families, 
besides six ladies. Margie was surprised at 
the goodly turnout. Some friend had brought 
ten Testaments and a little map of Palestine. 
Mrs. Hargrave had taken with her a whole 
year’s numbers of American Messengers and 




MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


the Child's Paper for free distribution, in- 
stead of books, for of course there could be 
no library yet awhile. 

The minister, after shaking hands and 
holding a brief conversation with each one 
present, in which he assured every one that 
he should count on his or her help “ right 
along ,” ascended the little platform and tap- 
ped the school-bell. As soon as all were 
silent he offered a short and earnest prayer 
for God’s blessing and guidance. 

Then he called upon the boys present to 
nominate a man for superintendent. They 
at once called out the name of Mr. Har- 
grave. 

“ Now, girls,” said the minister, “you may 
nominate some one, and we will take a vote.” 

The soft-voiced girls all nominated Mr. 
Hargrave; and as some one in the edge of 
the room called out, “ And all we outsiders 
go for Mr. Hargrave, too,” it was thought 
just right to elect the general choice, which 
was unanimously done. 


PLANTING SHA PON’S POST. 


39 


“ Come up, Superintendent Hargrave,” 
said the minister, “and take upon you the 
duties of office or offices, for I think you may 
as well be secretary, treasurer, and librarian 
for the present. All in favor of this arrange- 
ment please say “ Ay.” 

Margie was delighted when every one 
called out “ Ay ” so cheerily. 

Mr. Hargrave then went up to the little 
platform, and the minister presented him to 
the newly-organized school, with the remark 
that if he attended to all four of his offices 
well, \ he hoped he would prove himself equal 
in efficient service to any of the teachers. 

“ And now, dear friends and neighbors,” 
said Mr. Hargrave, “ let us open our school 
by singing a hymn dear to us all, and one 
that I am sure we all know by heart: 

“ ‘ Come, thou Fount of every blessing.’ ” 

How earnestly and heartfully they sang 
it! I am sure they felt the spirit of the 
words, and at the conclusion Mr. Hargrave 


40 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


said : “We shall now proceed to form our 
classes and distribute Testaments. I like the 
responsive reading of the Scriptures, and I 
want every one who can read to join with me 
in the lesson for the day.” 

So ten minutes were allowed for class for- 
mation, and then Mr. Hargrave told all to 
turn to the second chapter of Matthew, which 
they read responsively. 

“ Now,” said the superintendent, “ let us 
praise God in a service of song. We have a 
few books here of different sorts ; until we 
can do better, let us do as well as we can. 
Mr. Haight,” said he, addressing Margie’s 
friend, Dike, “ if you will be kind enough to 
teach those of us who do n’t know the tune, 
I think we shall all be glad to learn to sing 
the hymn, ‘ Come to Jesus.’ That is what 
we all need to do. It is what all Sunday- 
school workers wish to do, to come to Jesus, 
and to bring their pupils with them. I will 
read one verse. Mr. Haight will sing it alone 
first ; then we will all sing it with him. After 


PLAN 1 YNG SHARON'S ROSE. 41 

that I will read each verse, and Mr. Haight 
will lead us in the singing.” 

It was wonderful to see the zeal with 
which each child entered into this service. 
After the second verse, most of them sang 
the hymn as well as if they had heard it sung 
every Sunday for years, and Mr. Hargrave 
ventured to carry his fine bass and Mrs. Har- 
grave sang alto, making the harmony nearly 
complete. In like manner they sang 
“ Hark ! what mean those holy voices ?” 

and 

“ Christ was born in Bethlehem.” 

And then the teachers were requested to 
spend half an hour in teaching their classes 
the lesson found in the chapter that had been 
read. 

Margie chanced to be placed in Mr. Dan- 
vers’ class, with five other little girls near her 
own age, and her account of his manner of 
teaching was so interesting that I may, at 
some future day, be tempted to tell you of it, 
but not now. 


Mil g e Hargrave. 


6 


42 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


After lessons, Mr. Haight was called upon 
to teach the school the hymns, 

“ Come to the Sunday-school,” 

and 


“ Oh, we are volunteers.” 


And then Mr. Hargrave made a very 
short speech, in which he called upon every 
one to use heart and soul and mind and 
strength in the Sunday-school work. He 
thanked God for the encouragement he had 
given them in the beginning of their good 
work, and he pledged himself to do his best 
in the blessed cause. “ Nothing, dear chil- 
dren, is worth having that does not cost us 
something. Let us bring our offerings to 
the Sunday-school treasury next Sunday. 
Let each child try during the week to earn 
something for the cause. We shall need to 
buy hymn-books and Bibles and some Scrip- 
ture texts for our walls; and we shall soon 
wish to subscribe for some fresh papers, and 
get some tickets for the infant-class, and these 


PLANTING SHARONS ROSE. 


43 


things cost money. Boys, girls, this is our 
Sunday-school, is n’t it ?” 

“ Y es, sir !” from a chorus of voices. 

“ Then we must provide for it, that ’s all. 
Do n’t forget.” 

Just then Mr. Danvers arose. 

“ I just want to say to the little girls, that 
if they will bring in a nice little pile of nickels 
and currency next Sunday, I ’ll double the 
size of the pile, whatever it may be, before it 
goes up to the treasury-box.” 

“ Mr. Haight,” said Mr. Hargrave, “ I 
don’t like to be outdone. Wont you go 
halves with me if I make a similar offer to 
the boys ?” 

Dike nodded his head. 

“ Mr. Haight and I agree to do the same 
for the boys’ contribution,” said Mr. Har- 
grave. 

The boys felt like cheering, but they re- 
pressed their shouts until a more suitable 
occasion. 

Miss Betty Gaylord walked up to the su- 


44 


MARGIE HARGRAVE . 


perintendent’s platform and handed him a 
five-dollar bill : “ The new Treasury’s seed- 
penny,” she called it. The minister took up 
his hat, put a dollar-bill in, and forthwith him- 
self went around the room presenting his im- 
promptu contribution-box to all. When he 
returned to the platform and spread out the 
collection on the open pages of the large Bi- 
ble, the sum, added to Miss Gaylord’s five 
dollars, amounted to fourteen dollars and 
thirty-three cents, several postage-stamps hav- 
ing been thrown in, probably for want of 
other currency. 

Mr. Hargrave requested the minister to 
ask God’s blessing upon the Sunday-school 
treasury, which he did in an earnest prayer. 

Then they sang 

“ We are coming, blessed Saviour.” 

And the good minister told them that he 
should work this week among his people for 
them, and that he was almost sure he could 
promise them, on next Sunday, a supply of 
hymn-books, called “ Happy Voices.” 


PLANTING SHARON’S ROSE . 45 

The harvest sun was setting as the Har- 
grave family entered their pleasant home that 
happy Sunday afternoon. 

Margie’s summer work was progressing. 
Do you want to know more of it? 

“ Lord, thou callest for the workers. 

Glad we come at thy command ; 

Give to each the worker’s portion, 

Loving heart and tender hand. 

Great the honor, sweet the duty 
That thy love on us bestows — 

In the virgin soil of childhood 
Planting Sharon’s fadeless Rose.” 


46 


MARGIE HARGRAVE . 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE LORD OF THE GARDEN. 

The harvest season was over. The wheat 
was threshed, the hay baled, the corn cut 
and shocked, and all amid the stubble fields 
the piping quails kept calling, calling, all 
through the bright October days, 

“ Bob White ! 

Wheat ’s ripe ! 

No, not quite ! 

Yes, his ripe !” 

That was the way Robby interpreted the 
calls of the quails. I guess he knew quail 
language pretty well. 

Along the edge of the timber, the golden- 
rods and asters bloomed in their beauty of 
purple and gold, and in the fence corners 
the crimson leaves of the sumach contrasted 
with the russet of the withered corn-stalks 
find the golden foliage of the hickories. The 


THE LORD OF THE GARDEN. 


47 


apples from the farm orchards were ready 
for gathering, and the school-children loved 
to linger along the narrow lanes that ran 
through the older orchards, where the hands 
were already gathering in the fruit. The 
hazel bushes were bending with their clusters 
of nuts, and the early persimmons were drop- 
ping their luscious sweetness along the road- 
side each crisp autumnal morning. 

Margie and Phil and Robby delighted in 
the balmy October. Their walks to and 
from school were among their keenest pleas- 
ures. Now and then a squirrel bounded be- 
fore them, a nut in his little jaws, and skip- 
ped up the scaly trunk of a shell-bark. Of- 
ten, pretty rabbits darted across the road, and 
whole flocks of quails ran, huddling along, 
towards the shelter of a screening hedge-row. 
The prairie and wood flowers were constant 
inspirations to Robby, who made up all sorts 
of pretty rhymes for little Alice about the 
lovely blooms. Happy children were they 
indeed ! Oh, how I wish all children, city- 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


born and bred, could have one year of free, 
child-life, amid the beautiful and beauty-giving 
sights and sounds and odors of the country ! 

The Sunday-school under the care of Mr. 
Hargrave, throve and flourished. Nearly 
every family within three miles of the school- 
house was represented in the work. A nice 
library had been obtained ; some friends in 
Chicago had sent Mrs. Hargrave a large bot- 
tle of liquid slating and a box of colored 
crayons, and she had taken her large map of 
Boston, and covered the back of it with the 
liquid slating, thus making a prime black- 
board, upon which every week she found 
time to draw a picture, illustrative of the 
Sunday’s lesson. Above the picture she 
always printed, in large letters, the Golden 
Text for the week. 

Mr. Hargrave had prevailed upon all the 
teachers to come to the weekly prayer-meet- 
ing, prepared to remain twenty minutes after 
meeting, for the study of the Sunday-school 
lesson. And so both the prayer-meeting and 


THE LORD OF THE GARDEN. 


49 


the Sunday-school were the better. And 
though the books, and the Scripture texts 
and mottoes for the walls, and the subscrip- 
tion for papers for the little ones, and the 
Sunday-School Teacher for the adults, cost 
something, yet the people gave cheerfully, 
and were accordingly blessed in the giving. 

One lovely Sunday afternoon, as Mr. 
Hargrave, with his family, walked across the 
fields to the distant schoolhouse, he was 
overtaken by Dike, who was also hastening 
to the school. Dike had with him a couple 
of large boys, whom he had induced to at- 
tend the Sunday-school for the first time in 
their lives. He introduced them to Mr. and 
Mrs. Hargrave, and then, walking briskly 
forward, he joined Margie, who was a little 
in advance of the rest of the family. 

“ Margie,” he said, “ we ’re going to sing 
4 We ’re travelling home to heaven above,’ this 
afternoon.” 

“ Are we ?” said Margie simply. She 
was thinking of some verses she had com- 
7 


Margie Hargrave. 


5 ° 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


mitted to memory, and did not look up into 
Dike’s face as she usually did when he spoke 
to her. 

They walked on a little way in silence, 
and then Dike said, “ Margie, can’t you sing 
that hymn about ‘ While you ’re young’ ?” 

“Yes,” said Margie; “so can you. We 
sang it last Sunday. Do n’t you remember?” 

“ Yes,” said Dike, “but I do n’t care about 
singing it now. You sing it. Wont you ?” 

Margie, without further delay, sang : 

“ Oh wont you be a Christian while you ’re young ? 
Do n’t think it will be better 
To delay it until later, 

But remember your Creator 
While you ’re young. 

“ Oh, wont you love the Saviour while you ’re young ? 
For you, he left his glory, 

And embraced a cross so gory ; 

Wont you heed the melting story 
While you ’re young? 

“ Remember, death may find you while you ’re young ; 
For friends are often weeping, 

And the stars their watch are keeping 
O’er the grassy graves where, sleeping, 

Lie the young. 


THE LORD OF THE GARDEN. 


5 1 

“ Oh, walk the path to glory while you ’re young ; 
And Jesus will befriend you, 

And from danger will defend you, 

And a peace divine will send you, 

While you ’re young. 

“Then wont you be a Christian while you’re young? 
Why from the future borrow, 

When, ere comes another morrow, 

You may weep in endless sorrow, 

While you ’re young ?” 

Dike sighed heavily as Margie ended, but 
all he said was, “ Thank you, Margie,” and 
quickening his steps, walked on, and was 
soon far ahead of all the group. 

When Mr. Hargrave opened the school, he 
thought he felt an unusual solemnity perva- 
ding the place. The children were more than 
ordinarily quiet and attentive, and the teach- 
ers, like himself, seemed to be impressed with 
a spirit of devotion. This feeling appeared 
to prevail throughout the entire services of 
the afternoon. 

At the dismissal of the school, Mr. Har- 
grave gave notice that a ten-minute praver- 
meeting would then be held, to which all 


52 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


were invited. He was pleased to observe 
that all present resumed their seats. After a 
short and earnest prayer, Mr. Hargrave spoke 
of the great success of this Sunday-school. 
He compared it to a garden ; the scholars, 
the precious plants ; the teachers, the toilers 
who were set to tend the garden, sowing seed, 
and watering and training the young open- 
ing flowers. 

“Who, dear children,” he asked, “is the 
Lord of the garden? Do we want Him to 
come and visit his plantation ? Will he come 
if we ask him in earnestness? Let us, then, 
join in the words of this beautiful hymn — the 
last verse of the hymn — ‘ Planting Sharon’s 
Rose ’ : 

“Wake, O north wind, come, O south wind, 

O ’er our garden softly blow, 

Bid the Rose’s sacred perfume 
From our tender plants to flow. 

Come, Beloved ! to thy garden, 

All its sweets to thee it owes, 

Shed thy holy fragrance o’er us, 

Sharon’s fair and fadeless Rose.’ ” 


THE LORD OF THE GARDEN. 


53 


The hymn was sung standing. At the 
close of the singing all sat down but Dike, 
who remained, standing in his place as leader 
of the singing, in front of the superintend- 
ent’s desk. With tears streaming down his 
face, he said, 

“ Friends and neighbors, pray for me. I 
ought to be a Christian. I can’t stand it, to 
get up here Sunday after Sunday, singing, 
‘Come to Jesus,’ and ‘ I do believe that Jesus 
died for me,’ when all the time my conscience 
tells me it ’s a mean shame that I wont stand 
up for Jesus, and confess what a great sinner 
I am, and how much I need to come to him. 
and be washed in his blood* most precious. 
Boys, do n’t some of you want the prayers of 
these Christians? Stand up with me, and let 
us come to Jesus, just now .” 

The Baptist minister was present. He 
rose to his feet, and sang, 

“Then stand up for Jesus, whatever befall; 

On Calvary’s mountain, he stood for us all. 

Then stand up for Jesus, stand up for Jesus, 
Stand up for Jesus — for Jesus.” 


54 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


While he sang, one after another rose to 
signify a desire for the prayers of God’s peo- 
ple. Oh! what a strengthening of hearts 
was there among these faithful workers. Amid 
prayers and tears and hymns of thankful 
praise, the work of grace began. 

The Beloved had come to his garden. 


THANKSGIVING 


55 


CHAPTER V. 

THANKSGIVING. 

There were no “melancholy” days that 
bright October. Summer had died right 
royally, and Autumn entered on her gorgeous 
reign clad in glowing robes of purple and 
crimson and gold, and swayed her sceptre 
graciously. 

The Indian summer came to be the guest 
of chill November, and her balmy breath 
warmed the cold cheek of the monarch, before 
he could gather his wits sufficiently to issue 
his orders to the rain spirits, and the wind 
spirits, and the sharp little frost angels, and 
so it turned out that on account of the pres- 
ence at court of a goodly guest, the reign of 
drear November was made beautiful and en- 
joyable. From the distant fields, the smoke 
of a hundred legendary campfires floated in 


56 MARGIE HARGRAVE. 

a misty canopy above the pavilion of the 
smiling sovereigns, and through the blue haze 
the sun rose and set red and glowing over the 
far-off forest that encircled the rolling prairies, 
upon whose broad bosom nestled so many 
farm-homes. 

But the Indian summer at length passed 
silently away, and grim old Boreas rushed on 
noisy wings to November’s court, and begged 
for orders to blow away all vestige of the 
purple mist, and at once set to work and 
stripped the forest of its foliage, whirling the 
dead leaves in eddying heaps in the ridges 
and hollows. The ominous sound of his lusty 
breathing caused the farmers to look well to 
their wood-piles, lest old Zero follow sharp on 
Boreas’ track and find not a sufficiently warm 
welcome. 

“ Prime Thanksgiving weather,” the far- 
mers said. “ Hens have been busy in the 
egg business, too — plenty of custards and 
pumpkin pies this season, boys.” 

And the cheery matrons were all stoning 


THANKSGIVING. 


57 


raisins, or chopping apples, or boiling cider 
for the mincemeat, while the children who 
were too young to go to school hung round 
the warm, fragrant kitchens, in hopes of secu- 
ring a shred of citron, or a bit of cinnamon, or 
some raisins. The boys rose early on the 
keen, frosty mornings, and hunted and trap- 
ped for game; and the girls were contriving 
dainty ornaments of popcorn chains, and 
acorn and corn-husk frames for the decoration 
of the family-rooms, in each of which a long 
table was to be spread for the feast of 
Thanksgiving. 

At length the glad morning dawned clear 
and bright, and grateful hearts bounded with 
joy to welcome the National Feast Day. 

There was to be preaching in the morn- 
ing, in the schoolhouse, and a service of 
prayer and praise in the evening. In order 
to attend both of these meetings, the good 
people of the neighborhood had arranged to 
have but two meals, the festal dinner to be 
eaten at four o’clock in the afternoon, for as 


58 MARGIE HARGRAVE. 

but few of the families had servants, the labor 
of the elaborate preparations fell chiefly upon 
the toiling mothers, who were the very ones 
who most enjoyed the privileges of worship 
on these occasions. 

As roasted turkeys, and stuffed ducks, 
and chicken pies, although very enjoyable on 
the social feast table, are dreadfully unsatis- 
factory on paper, I will not attempt any de- 
scription of them; neither of the plum-pud- 
dings, or jelly puffs, or floats, or flummery, or 
any of the marvellous compounds of eggs and 
cream, and delicate fruits, which the neat- 
handed matrons had prepared for this festal 
celebration. The farmers and their families, 
and work people and guests, gathered around 
their cheerful tables and enjoyed with thank- 
ful hearts the bounties that the great Giver 
had provided for them, in abundantly blessing 
the fruits of their year’s toil. The merry 
children ate long after eating ceased to be 
necessary, and felt uncomfortably thankful — 
or thankfully uncomfortable; which is it, ye 


THANKSGIVING. 


59 

who have tried it? I am afraid some of the 
adults followed the children’s example, or 
mayhap set the example unto the children, 
though I don’t see why folks need to sin 
against their stomachs upon Thanksgiving 
Day, more than upon any other day. 

The twilight deepened, and from the little 
schoolhouse windows twinkled the . light of 
the “ tallow-dips,” summoning by their cheery 
signal the people to attend the thankful ser- 
vice. It was a happy and joyous meeting. 
Sons and daughters and brothers and sisters 
were there to testify of the Lord’s goodness, 
and to render praise for his infinite mercy to 
their souls, and to the souls of those dear to 
them. Fathers thanked God for the conver-. 
sion of their children, and teachers offered 
their grateful thanks for the hope of salvation 
for their scholars. For ever since that solemn 
Sabbath afternoon, when the Beloved had 
visited his garden, the showers of heavenly 
grace had fallen gently but steadily upon the 
precious spot, and the good seed was yielding 


6o 


MARGIE HARGRAVE . 


fruit, some thirty, some sixty, and some a 
hundred fold. 

To these grateful Christians the time 
seemed not so far off now when this neighbor- 
hood might have a house of worship in which 
to fold the feeble church. “ Lord, send us a 
shepherd to feed our lambs,” was the prayer, 
oft repeated by these heart-warm people of 
God. 

When the meeting drew near its close, 
Dike arose and said, “ Brothers and sisters, I 
feel like thanking God for the little toilers in 
the vineyard. I can never forget that it was 
a little hand that scattered the good seed in 
the stony furrows of my heart. It was the 
same little hand that plucked out the tares 
that sprung up, and were choking out the 
precious plants of faith, and hope, and love. 
It was a little hand that led me to the Sunday- 
school and to Jesus. Oh, let us pray that all 
the children may be gathered into the blessed 
service, and made willing toilers, both to 
scatter seed and to gather in for the harvest.” 


THANKSGIVING. 


6 1 


Then he began the hymn, which I will 
write down, that all the dear children, who 
read this story, may learn it. 

“ Little hands can scatter seed, 

Tidings of a Saviour’s grace ; 

In the furrows, in the field, 

God will grant it lodging-place. 

“ Little hands can till the plants, 

Plants of faith, and hope, and love ; 

Saviour, make each plant to grow, 

Fair as in the fields above. 

“ Little hands can pluck the weeds, 

Sins of heart, and hand, and tongue, 
Choking down the pleasant plants, 

That they grow so rank among. 

“ Little hands can gather in ; 

When the harvest time is come, 

God will garner all the sheaves, 

Till we sing the harvest home. 

“Jesus, bless the little toilers, 

Bless the seed, prepare the soil ; 

Sowing, tilling, weeding, gathering, 

Saviour, bless the children’s toil.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Hargrave returned to their 
home that festal night with grateful hearts, 


62 MAR GIE HAR GRA VE. 

thinking of the child-faith, and child-prayer 
and song and labor that had been the blessed 
means of gathering in their community to the 
Sunday-school, out of which was now grow- 
ing a church of God. As they knelt by 
Margie’s little bed, and thanked God for their 
precious toiler, they prayed that he would 
give them the heart of a little child to receive 
his promises, and to continue faithful in the 
work of the Lord. 

Your work, little one, may not be just 
such a work as was Margie Hargrave’s, but 
it is true that 

“You have a work that no other can do,” 

and it may be just as blessed in its results as 
was Margie’s. Then 

“ Do it so bravely, so kindly, so well, 

Angels shall hasten the story to tell.” 

By your sweet temper, and patient kind- 
ness, by your cheerful obedience and strict 
truthfulness, you may be a living epistle to 
some one who needs sorely to read God’s 


THANKSGIVING. 63 

gospel from a faithful child’s life. Then 
resolve to be a little toiler in His vineyard. 

“ Dare to do right, dare to be true, 

Jesus, your Saviour, will carry you through; 

City, and mansion, and throne all in sight, 

Can you not dare to be true, and do right ?” 


6 4 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE CHRISTMAS-TREE. 

The snow lay white and smooth over 
prairie and field. The sun shone brightly 
from out the clear, blue sky above the glis- 
tening robe in which winter had wrapped the 
slumbering earth, and that sparkled in the 
brilliant light with a thousand hues of color. 
The pleasant farms no longer waved with 
green herbs and growing grain ; but for all 
that the grain was growing. It is a cheerful 
saying of a noble woman of Sweden, dear 
Frederika Bremer, that “ there grows much 
bread in the winter night.” So, under the 
snow and under the frozen sod, the wheat 
that the farmers had sown in the early au- 
tumn days was silently but surely growing, 
growing, and in the harvest that the rolling 
months were sure to bring, would yield bread 


THE CHRISTMAS-TREE. 65 

that should nourish alike sower and reaper 
and gleaner. 

Within the quiet farm homes busy hands 
and busy hearts were filled with winter work, 
for each season brings its duties, and only 
the drones in the great human hive can ever 
find a time for idleness. There were few 
drones in the community among which Mr. 
Hargrave had cast his lot. Certainly none 
could be found in his family. Margie and 
Phil and Robbie found occupation enough 
out of school-hours to make them enjoy the 
sweet rest of the long night’s healthful 
sleep. 

It was scarcely more than two weeks be- 
fore Christmas. The Hargraves had always 
been used to marking this season with festiv- 
ities. In their city home there was always a 
Christmas-eve party and a tree loaded with 
gifts. The children’s hearts were full of 
joyful memories of merry Christmas, and 
very naturally, with the careless trust of 
childhood, they looked forward to a Christ- 
<) 


Mu. gie Hargrave. 


66 


MARGIE HARGRAVE, 


mas equally rife with pleasures as any of the 
past had been. To be sure, their mother had 
mildly reminded them that things were dif- 
ferent now, and that even their accustomed 
holiday pleasures must share the change that 
had happened to them all. 

“ We must be content to enjoy many 
things in memory, some things in hope, and 
but few things in the possession,” she said. 

And for the most part they were so con- 
tent. But what child can give up Christmas, 
the holy Christ-child’s day ? Margie Har- 
grave certainly could not. 

“We need n’t have a grand, surprise 
Christmas,” she said in her wise, womanly 
way, “ but we can do something to make it a 
happy day.” Then she added in a low voice, 
“ But I ’d be willing to give up all my home- 
Christmas if we only could have a Sunday- 
school Christmas.” Margie never forgot her 
dearest love, you see. 

Phil and Robbie shouted with delight at 
Margie’s idea. “ Oh yes,” cried Phil, “ why 


THE CHRISTMAS TREE . 67 

can’t we have a festival with a tree, and pres- 
ents for everybody ? I ’ll work for it.” 

“ So ’ll I,” said Robbie sagely. “ I like 
the shiny nuts, and I ’ll take a new book for 
my share. Let’s coax papa. Wont you 
coax, too, mamma ?” 

Mrs. Hargrave laughed and said that she 
would propose it to their father, and if the 
friends of the Sunday-school approved it she 
would do her part towards a festival. Ac- 
cordingly, at the close of the Wednesday 
night meeting, Mr. Hargrave invited all the 
Sunday-school workers to remain a few mo- 
ments for the consideration of the matter of 
a festival. Mrs. Hargrave had prepared a 
proposition showing by what means the en- 
terprise could be carried through without 
having the burden of it fall too heavily on 
any one, and yet by which each one should 
have a due share of the pleasant toil and 
tribute. Her suggestions were so simple and 
practical that there arose but few objections, 
and after a few moments’ discussion of the 


68 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


matter, it was resolved that there should be 
in the schoolhouse, on Christmas eve, a Sun- 
day-school festival. 

“ So Miss Hargrave ’lows that you can 
depend on me for the tree, as well as for the 
setting of it up,” said easy Tony Burnett, the 
only one in the whole community who had 
the shadow of a claim to the unenviable ap- 
pellation of drone. “ That beats all natur’,” 
he chuckled lazily. 

“ She ha’ n’t got acquainted with your nat- 
ural failin’,” slyly suggested a young farmer. 

“No need o’ makin’ her ’quainted with it, 
then,” retorted Tony. “Jes’ tell Miss Har- 
grave I ’ll hev that tree sot up firm an’ true, 
nine o’clock in the mornin’, sure ’s I ’m a 
downeaster.” And true enough, at the ap- 
pointed time he had a tall, broad-spreading 
evergreen from the river-bluffs, miles away, 
planted solidly and true in the middle of the 
raised platform. Besides this, he had pro- 
vided a large quantity of branches for deco- 
rating purposes ; and moreover, upon the gath- 


THE CHRISTMAS-TREE . 69 

ering of those friends who had agreed to fill 
and trim the tree, he announced his intention 
of sticking right along to that job until that 
schoolhouse looked like an evergreen-bower 
with wreaths and garlands. Nobody ever 
before had dreamed how much sprightliness 
and taste lay dormant in easy-going Tony. 

It was wonderful, too, how the gifts pour- 
ed in as the day wore on. Farmer Goodson, 
who had never been in the Sunday-school, 
nor had ever contributed to the cause, sur- 
prised every one by driving up towards even- 
ing with a large box of oranges, which he had 
travelled ten miles to purchase. 

“ I dunno ’s I believe in Sunday-schools,” 
he said to Mr. Hargrave as he lifted out the 
box, “ there wa’ n’t any where I was raised. 
But I believe in Christmas. My mother al- 
ways kept Christmas, and I always ’lotted on 
my Christmas orange; so, as I reckoned there 
would n’t be a great surplus of the fruit in 
this concern, I hitched up and drove over to 
Blosville and bought a hundred.” 


70 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


“You must be here to-night to see them 
distributed,” said Mr. Hargrave. “ It will pay 
you to come. You havfe been very kind and 
thoughtful in this. A man who loves Christ- 
mas and children ought to love Sunday- 
schools, for their work is to bring all the chil- 
dren to Jesus, the Lord of Christmas.” 

Dike also had made a journey to Blos- 
ville, and had invested the cash contributed 
by the friends, in colored tapers, liquid bronze, 
tiny flags, and assorted candies; and while 
the ladies were busy stringing popcorn and 
filling the pretty lace stockings with dainties, 
he had been diligently bronzing pecans, shell- 
barks, and horsechestnuts. 

“ There never was such a thing done since 
this prairie was settled,” said an old farmer, 
who had dropped in about noon with his con- 
tribution. “ Christmas has always come around 
regular enough, but nobody ever thought of 
celebrating it. Tell you what, these Sunday- 
schools warm up people’s hearts, and thaw 
out a little of that close grip and shabbiness 


THE CHRISTMAS-TREE . 71 

that somehow get hold of hard-working peo- 
ple.” 

“ Thank you for those words,” said Mr. 
Hargrave. “ They give me encouragement. 
Our Sunday-school will have a Christmas 
blessing, I am sure.” 

Old and young alike revelled in innocent 
delight that happy Christmas eve when, gath- 
ered in the dear old schoolhouse, they togeth- 
er viewed the huge Christmas-tree glowing 
with the soft radiance of its hundred tapers, 
and bearing, oh ! such pleasant fruit. 

After a short prayer, in which Mr. Har- 
grave asked the Lord of Christmas to come 
and bless the children’s merrymaking, the va- 
rious classes marched around the tree, sing- 
ing, as they went, a Christmas hymn. Then 
Mr. Hargrave read that sweet story of the 
Child of Bethlehem, and in a pleasant little 
address made every one feel something of the 
peace and goodwill that the first Christmas 
brought from heaven to earth in the music 
of angel chorals on the plains of Judea. After 


72 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


more singing by the scholars, other enter- 
taining speeches were made by friends pres- 
ent, and then came what Farmer Goodson 
pronounced finer than any string of rubies or 
pearls — and I think he was right, for it was a 
recitation of words of wisdom that are more 
precious than rubies, and of truth that is of 
greater value than pearls : the words of Scrip- 
ture concerning the birth, the character, and 
the office of Christ the Lord. After a boun- 
tiful supper came the distribution of the gifts, 
and oh, what a happy time was that ! How 
ever did dear old Grandma Goff manage to 
knit a pair of soft, warm, crimson mittens for 
every little child of the infant-class? How 
ever did somebody know how much poor little 
Mick Brady had longed and longed for a pair 
of skates ? How was it that for Harry Grey, 
who liked nothing so well as a book, the tree 
yielded a nice copy of “ The Swiss Family 
Robinson,” while for Ned Story it bore the 
very thing he had for a year craved, namely, 
a neat, morocco pocketbook ? Every whistle, 


THE CHRISTMAS-TREE. 


73 


trumpet, microscope, jack-knife, drawing-card, 
and picturebook, went just to the hands wait- 
ing for them, and to the hearts thankful for 
them, if one could judge from the delighted 
exclamations of the children. “ Oh,” cried 
one, as the parting hour came, “ who ’d have 
thought that Santa Claus could have got such 
a jolly pack into a house that has no better 
chimney than an old stovepipe !” 

“ Hush, Billy,” said Margie, “it isn’t Santa 
Claus. Sunday-schools do n’t have Santa 
Claus. They have Jesus, and he don’t need 
to come down chimneys to bring good gifts 
to us. He comes into people’s hearts and 
fills them full of ‘ goodwill to men.’ ” 

As the cheerful groups rode away, under 
the bright starlight of that happy Christmas 
eve, there were none who did not realize that 
the Sunday-school was a holy agency binding 
each family and each heart upon that beauti- 
ful prairie one to another and to God. And 
it was not the least of Mr. Hargrave’s joy to 
hear Farmer Goodson, as he drove into his 
ID 


Margin Hargrave. 


74 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


farm-gate, shout back, “ Good-night, friends. 
A merry morrow to you all. God bless 
Christmas. God bless the Sunday-school.” 

“ Amen to that !” shouted Dike in return. 

“ I knew we should have a Christmas 
blessing,” said Mr. Hargrave. “ The Lord 
of Christmas has been with us. God bless 
us, every one.” 

And so there was steadily growing “ much 
bread in the winter night.” 


THE 


Percy Children. 


' 




















THE 


PERCY CHILDREN. 


CHAPTER I. 

A LITTLE SLANG. 

Harry and Lily Percy live in a lovely 
cottage home in the edge of a Western town. 
One day last summer their mamma told them 
to take the baby in his little carriage and 
amuse him for an hour in the garden. Noth- 
ing could have been nicer, for baby was good 
and the garden was delicious. There they 
could shout and jump and whistle to their 
hearts’ content. There were no heads to be 
split with Harry’s noise going right through 
them, unless it might be the cabbage-heads, 


78 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


and they had never said a word against even 
his wildest war-whoops, or shrillest imitations 
of the locomotive-whistle. There Lily could 
skip her rope, toss her ball, or play with shut- 
tlecock and battledore with Harry, for baby 
loved to lie in his carriage under the willow- 
tree, and generally he would amuse himself 
by trying to catch the drooping branches 
of the tree as the summer breezes gently 
swayed them almost into his tiny, grasping- 
hands. 

Harry and Lily obeyed their mamma, and 
went out in gay spirits ; and placing baby in 
his favorite nook under the willows, began to 
amuse themselves in a game of battledore. 
This went on famously for a while, and baby 
seemed to enjoy the sight of the darting toy 
with its gay feathers, and the merry sounds 
of laughter, as well as the players themselves. 
But soon Harry, who was thirteen years old, 
and quite strong, began to deal the unlucky 
shuttlecock such violent blows that it seemed 
as if the poor thing would go distracted. It 








THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


79 


bounded through the air, and up into the 
apple-tree, and over the garden fence in a 
frantic manner, and at last away it flew over 
Lily’s battledore, and lodged in the Lawton 
blackberry patch. Poor Lily scratched her 
hands and tore a great rent in her new gown 
with the morning-glory border, of which she 
was so fond. 

Then there arose a little cloud in the sky; 
not in the sky above, but in the sky within. 
Lily would n’t play. Harry did n’t care. He 
threw himself on the grass and began to 
toss pebbles up in the air. Lily pinned up the 
rent in her gown, and pouted a little, and 
took the baby’s carriage and trundled it up 
and down the garden-walk a few times, and 
then placed it again under the willow-tree, 
but this time in such a manner that one 
wheel was much higher than the other, be- 
cause it rested on a large clod which Lily had 
not noticed. Presently she took her rope 
and began to skip. Just then Harry spied 
the uneven position of the wheels, and in- 


8o 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


stead of going to set them right himself, he 
called out to Lily in a very coarse voice, 

“ I say there, old gal, you ’d better watch 
out, or that young ’un ’ll spill out o’ that, and 
then you ’ll catch old Ned, you bet!” 

Now was n’t that a string of slang for a 
brother to bawl out to his little sister ! 

I forgot to tell you that Lily was only ten 
years old, and according to all proper and 
popular notions she ought to have been able 
to look up to her thirteen-year-old brother 
for an example of kindness and propriety and 
all manner of goodness. But, as you see, 
she was n’t. I have been around a good deal 
among real, live boys, and have noticed a 
good many brothers of thirteen years and 
over, and under, too. I have often tried to 
find one like the excellently well-behaved, 
proper, and pretty-mannered lads that I have 
read about in books. When I find one of 
them, I ’ll write about him. All the boys I 
know yet are something like Harry Percy. 
They have frequent turns of badness. They 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. Si 

are often dreadfully rough, and have a shock- 
ing tendency toward slang; and altogether 
they would n’t do at all for examples worthy 
of any little girl’s imitation. But for all that, 
I like boys; I can’t help liking them, and 
would n’t help it, if I could. Sometimes they 
are regular nuisances, I know; but quite as 
often they are real comforts. 

But I must go back to Harry’s speech, 
which was n’t much of a comfort to Lily, was 
it ? She did n’t think it was, for she retorted 
promptly, with a toss of the head, 

“ Oh, I suppose papa has not told you 
over and over again not to say '‘you bet ’ and 
'‘watch out P And mamma would like to 
hear you speak so scornfully of the baby and 
me, would n’t she ? And as to catching 
‘ Old Ned,’ I ’m sure I ’d as lief have Old 
Ned as Old Harry.” 

“ Now, though Lily’s speech had a little 
twang of piety in the first part, where she 
administered an implied reminder of their 
parents’ former admonitions, yet the tip of 
11 


Mk gle Hargrave. 


82 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


the little speech was like the tip of a poisoned 
arrow. It would rankle and hurt, and was 
so tipped because it was meant to rankle and 
hurt. Girls know how to do this sort of 
thing a vast deal better than boys. / think 
it is quite as hateful as anything that boys 
do. You see, Lily knew just how Harry felt, 
and how he resented any punning on his 
name. Nothing vexed him more than to be 
called Old Harry. He said it was calling 
him the evil one. So when Lily shot oft' her 
venomed little shaft at him, he exclaimed an- 
grily, “You dry up there, you lunatic.” The 
little cloud in the sky had grown to be a 
great, black storm-cloud, and flashes of angry 
lightning were coming. 

Just here I wish my little readers would 
stop and take their Testaments, and read 
the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth verses of 
the third chapter of the General Epistle of 
James. 

I am very much obliged to those of you 
who have read the verses. Store them up in 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 83 

your memory, and think about them, and 
some time I am sure you will thank me for 
having directed your attention to them. 

Lily’s eyes flashed as Harry called her a 
lunatic, and she was about to bestow on him 
some equally odious name, when, as if think- 
ing of a more satisfactory plan, she primmed 
up her mouth, and without ceasing her skip- 
ping, said in a very injured tone of voice, 
“Oh, certainly — I’m a lunatic, and an idiot, 
and a fool — just as you please. Keep on. 

‘ Do unto others as you ’d have others do to 
you.’ ” Then she began to sing in a most 
aggravating way, 

“ Shed not a tear o’er your friend’s early bier, 
When I am gone — when I am gone.” 

Now wasn’t that exasperating? Harry 
thought it was, and just as Lily began the 
“ When I am gone” that comes after the line 

“ Smile when the deep-tolling bell you shall hear,” 

he cried out mockingly, “ Oh yes, Sister 
Phoebe, we will ; certainly, why not ?” and 


8 4 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


popped a pebble square into her open mouth. 
Harry would have considered it an excellent 
shot had the pebble gone no farther, but just 
have stopped her mouth by stopping in her 
mouth ; but, alas, it went farther, and lodged 
in the windpipe. Ah, what a scene then fol- 
lowed ! 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


ss 


CHAPTER II. 

WHAT CAME OF IT. 

Poor Lily dropped the skipping-rope and 
threw up her hands, and beat wildly in air, 
shaking her head and gasping and choking 
in a most distressing manner. Harry, thor- 
oughly frightened, sprang to his feet, and ex- 
claiming, “ O Lily, what ’s the matter ? Did 
it go down your throat ? Cough ! Spit it 
out ! O dear, she ’s choking to death ! what 
shall I do ?” began to call for his mamma and 
grandma and the hired girl as loud as he 
could shout. They all came running down 
the garden walk as fast as they could, for 
they were terrified by the fright and cries of 
poor Harry. When they saw Lily’s sad 
condition they were still more alarmed, and 
the hired girl began to scream and wring her 
hands, which added to Harry’s distress, and 
he burst out crying. Mrs. Percy laid her 


86 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


hand on Harry’s shoulder, and said calmly, 
though her lips quivered and her face was 
very pale, 

' “Be quick, Harry; stop crying. Get the 
horse — do n’t wait to saddle him, and ride as 
fast as you can for Dr. Burns. Bring him 
instantly.” 

Harry flew to obey, and 'Mrs. Percy and 
the grandma did all in their power to relieve 
poor little Lily. But alas, the child’s face was 
already distorted with the pain of suffocation 
and a livid purple hue was fast overspreading 
it. Harry darted up the avenue on the swift 
horse, holding on by mane and halter, for he 
had not even tarried long enough to put on 
the bridle. Oh, how he feared that his sister 
would cease to struggle and gasp before he 
could reach the doctor. His heart gave a 
great bound when he saw the welcome coun- 
tenance of Dr. Burns just opposite their own 
gate, as he reached the end of the avenue. 
How eagerly he shouted to him. 

“ O doctor,” he cried, “ come quick — 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 87 

Lily is dying! I shot a pebble down her 
throat. Her face is turning black.” 

Dr. Burns did not wait to hear any more, 
but putting spurs to his easy-going horse, 
made all haste to reach the spot. He was 
not one moment too soon. Indeed, he said 
that if he had been five minutes later he 
would have been too late. Grandma and 
mamma held the poor little girl, whose con- 
vulsive struggles for air were pitiable to see, 
while Dr. Burns, with the long, slim instru- 
ments which he had at once taken from his 
saddle-bags, worked at her throat until he 
succeeded in bringing up the smooth, round 
pebble, which had caused such suffering. 
Mrs. Percy cried for joy, and Hetty, the 
hired girl, caught Lily up in’ her arms and 
carried her into the house as if she had been 
the baby. Poor baby, he had been crying 
lustily for some minutes, but no one had 
heeded him. Mrs. Percy now hastened to 
take the little fellow and quiet him. What 
was her dismay to find the carriage upset, 


88 MARGIE HARGRAVE. 

and the baby with his little face in the grass 
screaming violently, while tight in his chub- 
by fist he grasped a huge yellow-and-black 
bumble-bee, which was buzzing and stinging 
as hard as it could, considering the difficul- 
ties of the situation. 

“ O doctor !” cried the poor frightened 
mother, “ baby is stung. Here is a great bee 
in his hand. He will go into spasms,” and 
she trembled and turned pale. But the doc- 
tor laughed, and said probably the bee might 
have spasms, but not the baby. 

“ Caught a Tartar, didn’t you, baby?” he 
said; “and conquered him, too, brave baby!” 
Then stooping down he spat on the ground 
where was some fresh, loose garden mould, 
and of this he mixed a little plaster which 
he spread over the stung baby palm, while 
grandma went for some soft linen with which 
to bind up the smarting hand. Did you 
ever read of any one else who spat upon the 
ground and made clay of the spittle ? Who 
was it? Was the clay to put on bee-stings? 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


89 


Then while Mrs. Percy soothed the baby, 
who ceased wailing so piteously as soon as 
the clay plaster touched his little hand, Dr. 
Burns went into the house to see Lily. 

Harry sat forlorn on the doorstep. He 
did not lift his head as the doctor went by, 
but turned so as to hear what he should say 
when he entered the room where Lily was. 

“ Do you feel better now ?” asked the 
doctor cheerfully. 

Harry could not hear Lily’s answer, but 
he heard the doctor say, “ Oh, of course, you 
must take a little medicine and keep quiet 
for a day or two. It was a narrow escape. 
Do n’t stand as target for Master Harry’s 
pebble-practice any more ; it ’s dangerous. 
Suppose now that I had been up at my office, 
instead of trotting by here when Harry met 
me, where do you reckon you would have 
been now ? And how would the big brother 
have felt to know that he had popped a peb- 
ble down his sister’s throat, and sent her off 
into the other world ?” 


Marzie Harzrava 


12 


9 ° 


MARGIE HARGRAVE . 


Lily did not answer, but hid her face in 
the pillows. Harry drew his hat over his 
eyes and drooped his head still lower. The 
doctor’s questions set them both to think- 
ing. 

This was what Lily thought : “ Oh, if I 
had died, and gone up to the judgment bar 
of God, how ever could I have told Jesus 
about my hatefulness to my brother ! He 
would never, never have believed that I ever 
tried to love Him and keep His command- 
ments.” 

Harry’s thoughts were these : “ What if 
she had died, how would I have felt to re- 
member as long as ever I lived, that the last 
words I spoke to her were, that I ’d be glad 
she was dead for he remembered his taunts 
about “ Smile when the deep-tolling bell you 
shall hear.” He shuddered to think of it. 
Poor children ! they were very unhappy. 

The next day, when Lily was better and 
grandma asked them what brought the trou- 
ble about, Lily answered evasively, “ Oh, we 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 91 

were taking care of baby and playing, and 
we got to fussing.” 

“But,” persisted grandma, “what started 
the fussing?” 

Harry had been reviewing in his mind 
the whole progress of the previous day’s 
trouble, and he answered frankly, “ A string 
of slang started the fuss.” 

“And who started the string of slang?” 
continued grandma reproachfully, 

Harry looked up at Lily, and replied with 
a twinkle of his merry eyes, “ The evil one, I 
guess.” Then he marched across the room, 
and said, “ Forgive me, Lily, and you may 
call me Old Harry as much as you like; I ’ll 
try not to get mad about it again.” 

Lily drew Harry down to her, and kissed 
him, and said, while her cheeks burned with 
shame, “ I was hateful as could be, Harry ; 
but I’m real sorry; wont you forgive me? 
I ’ve asked Jesus to forgive me ?” 

Harry had a twinge of conscience just 
then, for he had lit asked Jesus; but he de- 


9 2 


MARGIE ! 'HARGRAVE . 


termined that he would, and they forgave 
one another, and made up good friends, just 
as you and your sister and brother have done 
ever and ever so often. 

I should like to finish this chapter by 
telling you that Harry left off slang in all its 
forms; but that wouldn’t be entirely true, 
for he uses more or less every day of his life. 
I think he often checks himself when he is 
angry, and tries more and more to rule that 
unruly member which no man can tame, but 
which the grace of God can tame, even in a 
boy’s heart. 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


93 


CHAPTER III. 

LIL Y’S MISTAKE. 

“ I wish I were a cassowary, 

In the wilds of Timbuctoo ; 

Would n’t I eat a missionary, 

Skin and bones, and hymn-book too !” 

Harry Percy sat in the doorway and 
grumbled out this very naughty wish, one 
lovely afternoon. The golden-rods and asters 
were blooming, the sumac berries were tinged 
with russet red, the autumn days were in 
their golden prime, and you might have sup- 
posed that an active, healthy, American boy 
would have preferred being himself, and eat- 
ing wholesome meals of fresh bread and but- 
ter, fruits and milk, in a pleasant home on 
the prairies of Illinois. 

Harry’s cap was slouched over his fore- 
head, and his eyes were fixed on the ground, 
while his hands were busily occupied in 


94 MARC IE HARGRAVE. 

twirling his jackknife in the sort of play that 
boys call mumble-the-peg. Every time the 
knife failed to turn just as he expected it to, 
he would growl surlily, “ Consarn the luck /” 
You remember that I told you he was not 
entirely cured of slang, although he had once 
come so near choking Lily to death with it 
and a pebble. Then he would grasp the un- 
lucky knife with a twitch and a jerk enough 
to have set its teeth on edge, if it had any 
teeth. 

Just as he repeated spitefully the very 
naughty, cannibal desires expressed in the 
lines, Lily came out upon the doorstep in 
her pretty, new fall suit and bronze gaiters, 
and with her long yellow hair hanging down 
her shoulders from under her jaunty sailor 
hat, crimped and fluffy, quite in the prevail- 
ing style. She looked as fresh and bright 
and attractive as most little misses do when, 
fresh from the loving mother-touch, they 
start out in their pretty adornments of toilet 
for an afternoon walk. Harry’s eyes bright- 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


95 


ened a little as he looked up at her, drawing 
on her gloves in the doorway, and I truly 
think that a few bright, cheery words from 
Lily’s rosy lips, sounding as sweet and bright 
as the little lady herself, might have charmed 
away the cannibal spirit from poor Harry, 
and have caused him to feel quite himself 
again. But those few sweet words he did 
not hear. 

It happened that Lily was feeling partic- 
ularly well pleased with herself. She was 
dressed quite to her mind, for one thing. 
Everything pleased her; her hair had just 
the right kinks, her sailor knot just the 
proper twist, and her gaiters — well, it was 
really quite exhilarating to Lily to know that 
just such a pair of gaiter-boots had never yet 
been seen in that village. For the other 
thing, Lily was going to spend the afternoon 
with her Sunday-school teacher. Once a 
month this good lady held a meeting of her 
own scholars, with others of different classes 
who desired to come, and she conducted very 


9 6 


MARGIE HARGRAVE . 


interesting religious exercises with these 
young people. She read portions of Scrip- 
ture, and sang sweet hymns, and talked affec- 
tionately to them about their duties to God 
and to each other; often she encouraged the 
little girls to talk and to pray with her. The 
meetings were always pleasant and instruc- 
tive. Lily liked to attend them. This day 
she was particularly anxious to go, for it was 
the day on which each member brought in 
her semi-annual contribution for the mission- 
ary-box. Lily felt, as she supposed, in a high- 
ly proper frame of mind, as who cannot, when 
from the crown of one’s head to the sole of 
one’s foot there is nothing but grace and 
beauty in the very latest style? 

It was not at all surprising, then, that she 
should be shocked at hearing that boy ex- 
press himself so savagely inclined towards 
the Timbuctoo missionary, and that she 
deemed' it her duty to visit the full force of 
her indignation upon his offending head. 

“ Harry Percy, you wicked, wicked boy. 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


97 


Are n’t you ashamed to let your angry pas- 
sions rise in that manner, and all because 
your poor old grandma asked you to read the 
‘ Missionary Herald’ to her? I should think 
you would esteem it a privilege to be per- 
mitted to do some good in the world, espec- 
ially to read that interesting book to grand- 
ma, when she knits all your mittens and 
things. You ’re an ungrateful, hard-hearted, 
miserable boy, and you ought to know better 
than to sit and swear at that knife. I shall 
tell papa. You know there is no such thing 
as luck; and consarn is just as bad as swear- 
ing. I ’m astonished at you.” 

“ Oh,” said Harry mockingly, “ I s’pose 
so. And I s’pose you ’re going right straight 
to prayer-meeting to thank God that you are 
not such an ‘ ungrateful, hard-hearted, miser- 
able’ girl. You ’re just like the Pharisee that 
stood up in the temple to pray; but I reckon 
if you ’d been invited to go nutting over to 
Rocky Point, and had to stay here reading 
Missionary Heralds, you would n’t feel so 
IP, 


Uurt'ie Hnr»i 


9 8 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


mighty gay. I just wish mother would come 
out and say, ‘ Lily Percy, you conceited girl, 
come right in and take off that fine rig, and 
sit down in this chair and read the “ Saints’ 
Rest ” all this blessed afternoon.’ That ’s 
what I wish. Guess you’d feel about as 
pious as I do — that ’s all.” 

Lily darted an indignant look at Harry 
and hastily walked away, as if afraid that 
Harry’s wish might truly come to pass before 
she got fairly out of the garden walk. 

Somehow her frame of mind was less sat- 
isfactory than it had been a few moments 
before. She walked a little slower after she 
had passed out of the gate, and she tried to 
fix her attention on the prettily-fitting gloves 
and dainty gaiters, but both had lost their 
charm. She kept thinking about the Phari- 
see in the temple, and wondering if indeed 
she were like him. Then she wondered how 
she would have felt, had her mamma really 
kept her from Miss Soule’s meeting. She 
thought of the nutting party to which she 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


99 


was invited on the next Saturday, and won- 
dered how she would feel if grandma should 
happen to wish her to stay at home and read 
the “ Missionary Herald.” 

“ I wonder what makes grandma like such 
pokey books?” she said to herself; and then 
suddenly recollected that she had chided 
Harry for not esteeming it a privilege to be 
permitted to read to her that “interesting” 
book. She had evidently made a mistake 
somewhere and somehow, although she was 
not quite sure of the where and the how. 
Just here she was startled by the sound of 
approaching footsteps close behind her. She 
turned quickly, and saw Harry running with 
all his might. 

“ He ’s told mamma, and she ’s sent for 
me to come back,” thought Lily, and the 
tears came into her eyes. 

“ Here, you pious young lady,” shouted 
Harry, “you’ve gone off without your hand- 
kerchief, and your missionary money all tied 
up in one corner of it.” 




too 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


“ Is that all ?” said Lily, quite relieved. 

“ Is n’t that enough ? What are you cry- 
ing about ? Did you think you ’d lost it ? 
Well, you had. You dropped it on the door- 
step when you made that slight mistake of 
calling me a wicked, hard-hearted, ungrateful, 
miserable boy. At first I thought I ’d let you 
think you ’d lost it ; and then I concluded 
that was mean, and I ’d better do as I ’d be 
done by, and not as I'd been done by. So 
here ’s your handkerchief.” 

“ Slight mistake ,” repeated Lily. “ Oh, 
Harry, you ’re a real good boy, and I ’m as 
mean as I can be — a hateful, hateful thing,” 
and the big tears dropped upon the dainty 
little kerchief. “ I ’ve a great mind to go 
back and read the ‘ Missionary Herald ’ to 
grandma, and let you go nutting. I ’m 
ashamed to go to the meeting. I do wish I 
was a better girl.” 

“Oh, well now,” said Harry, “you’re a 
pretty good girl at most times. Everybody 
makes mistakes sometimes. Go along to 

RM 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


IOI 


your meeting; never mind me. I can stand 
the missionary thing, I s’pose, as long as I Ve 
got to. Kiss good-by, and do n’t be like the 
Pharisee after you get there and away went 
Harry, his face bright with smiles, while Lily 
walked on slowly, thinking over her mistake. 
She knew now just where and how she had 
made it. 

Do you ? 


102 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


CHAPTER i V. 

LILY'S TRIALA TION. 

Mrs. Percy was canning blackberries. 
There had been a grand neighborhood black- 
berrying party the day before, and Mrs. Per- 
cy’s share in the fruits of the excursion came 
to her in two large tubs, heaped to the brims 
with luscious berries. She had not accom- 
panied the party herself, but grandma had, 
and had proved herself a most admirable 
picker, too. The bushes were loaded, and 
Harry guessed that, had their party eaten 
fewer, they might have filled another tub 
perhaps. The Grahams had filled four. 

“Mercy knows they’re welcome to ’em,” 
said Margery, the new hired girl. “ Half of 
these will spoil on your hands, and it ’ll take 
all the flour in the barrel to bake up t’ other 
half into pies.” 

“ O Margery,” said Mrs. Percy, “ do n’t 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


103 


undervalue our good folks’ day’s work in 
such a fashion. We ’ll get up in the morn- 
ing early, and see if we can’t manage to pre- 
serve the whole lot for winter use.” 

And so it came about that from four in 
the morning until the late dinner hour, Mrs. 
Percy was occupied with berries and sugar, 
and tin cans and cement. Grandma, wearied 
with the previous day’s excursion, kept her 
quiet room, and desired not to be disturbed; 
so, of course, Lily and baby could not amuse 
themselves in that accustomed asylum. The 
seamstress was busied with some dainty ma- 
terial, into which baby’s restless hands would 
persist in plunging, making sad havoc with 
the delicate fabric, until even that patient 
little lady uttered an edict that banished both 
baby and Lily from her domains. The kitch- 
en was too hot to be thought of; and the 
piazza, whereon were mamma, the charcoal 
furnace, and the fruit arrangements gener- 
ally, was absolutely forbidden ground from 
the first. So poor Lily, with her small charge, 


io4 


MARGIE MARGRAVE . 


was limited to a pitiful choice between the 
sitting-room, cool but lonely, and the garden, 
which was hot, and moreover brimful of temp- 
tations for that riotous baby with the inqui- 
ring mind and irrepressible fingers. Lily 
chose the garden. Luckless choice ! for truly 
it seemed as if baby never accomplished more 
abundant mischief than on that scorching 
July day. 

“ Firstmost,” as Lily phrased it in her 
tearful complaint to Harry at noon, “ he ran 
to the edge of mamma’s table on the piazza, 
just in the minute I was shooing Mrs. May- 
nard’s ducks out of our strawberry beds, be- 
cause somebody ’d left the side gate open, 
and got hold of a great milk-pan full of sugar 
and tipped it all over himself. My! you ought 
to have seen him shut his eyes and catch his 
breath ; but oh ! how he did screech when it 
was all over, and he just sat himself flat down 
in it all. Of course mamma had to stop 
everything and wash and dress him ; and I 
got a scolding for leaving him one single 




THE PERCY CHILDREN. 105 

minute, because mamma told me not to, and 
'.he did n’t tell me to drive the ducks out. 
And then he chewed up ever so much lace 
ruffles that Miss Lester was sewing on grand- 
ma’s caps; and I got another scolding just 
because I was reading ‘ Robinson Crusoe.’ 
And I had n’t more than got him down stairs 
and into the front yard, before he just toddled 
right straight up to papa’s carnation pink, 
and snipped off every single blossom close to 
the head ; and then, just because I slapped 
his hands, he set up the awfullest screaming 
you ever did hear, and I had to carry him up 
and down almost an hour, I should say, before 
he ’d be still, and stop kicking and go to sleep. 

“ I was just tired out when I got him into 
his wagon, and all fixed nicely under the 
pear-tree, in the cool shade, and do n’t you 
think, Dr. Porter’s big dog just rose up and 
gave the dreadfullest howl anybody ever heard, 
and woke the baby. I do believe that horrid 
dog did it all on purpose, for he came and sat 
right in front of our gate, and just howled 
14 


Margie Hargrave. 


106 MARGIE HARGRAVE. 

straight into our yard. I threw a rotten pear 
at him, and hit him plump in the nose too.” 
added Lily, smiling faintly at the recollection 
of old Towser’s discomfiture. “ I was mad 
as could be,” she continued, after a brief 
pause, “ and I trundled baby over to Mrs. 
Porter’s and told the black woman about 
Towser doing so hateful, and asked her to 
tie him so that baby could get a chance to 
sleep. But she said it was n’t any use ; if 
he ’d a mind to howl, nobody could hinder 
him ; tying would only make it worse, be- 
cause somebody was going to die, and just 
as likely as not it was either baby or me.” 

“ Oh, that ’s all nonsense,” said Harry. 
“ Of course somebody 's going to die. Some- 
body ’s always dying. Anybody that reads 
the papers knows that much. That old black 
woman says Towser smells death in the air. 
I s’pose that ’s because he ’s a doctor’s dog. 
I hate doctors’ dogs. I do n’t like doctors 
either, especially Dr. Porter. I ’m glad he 
is n’t our doctor.” 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 107 

“ Well, I wish his old dog would n’t come 
and howl square in front of our gate just 
when I ’m getting the baby to sleep, and in 
the midst of so much trouble and trialation ,*’ 
said Lily. 

“ There you go again,” cried Harry in 
sudden indignation. “ I mean to tell mam- 
ma.” And up he jumped from his seat on 
the doorstep, and ran around to the piazza 
where Mrs. Percy was sealing the last glass 
of jelly. She looked heated and very tired, 
and in no laughing mood certainly, but the 
laugh would come as Harry ended his rapid 
record of Lily’s troubles with “ I do wish 
she ’d learn to say either trial or tribulation. 
She never does get those words straight. 
She stood up in Sunday-school last Sunday, 
and just made all the boys in our class laugh 
with her trialation . Do n’t you think, she 
said, ‘ And not only so, but we glory in trial- 
ation also, knowing that trialation worketh 
patience.’ The superintendent could hardly 
keep from laughing; but he said the verse 


1 08 MAR GIE MAR GRA VE. 

over right, and poor Lily never noticed it. 
She sat down very well satisfied, and never 
knew what the boys were laughing at.” 

“ Poor Lily,” said Mrs. Percy, “ I fancy 
this pot of jelly will sweeten her memories of 
this sorrowful morning. Take it to her with 
mamma’s love; and read the thirty-third 
verse of the sixteenth chapter of John to 
her; and don’t be cross. We must help 
poor sister out of her trialationl 

“Whew!” said Harry, “I wish I'd had 
triolation , if this is the sort of help out of it 
I ’d have got. Wont this be nice on next 
winter’s lunch biscuits !” 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


109 


CHAPTER V. 

LILY'S GOOD CHEER. 

Harry returned to the doorstep where 
he had left Lily sitting so forlornly. He held 
the glass of jelly out of sight behind him, and 
asked eagerly, “ Which hand will you have ? 
Choose, right or left?” 

“ Right,” said Lily, brightening a little. 

Harry held up an empty right-hand. 

“ Sho !” said Lily ; “ what have you got 
there ? I would n’t fool anybody so. When I 
have anything for you I always give it to you.” 

“ Do you ?”• said Harry, good-naturedly. 
“Well, this is some trialation medicine. 
Let ’s divide. You had the trialation; s’pose 
you give me the medicine.” 

Lily looked befogged, and Harry, who had 
no mind to tease the tired little girl, drew 
forth his hand and displayed the glass of 
jelly. “ Tribulation jelly, with mamma’s 


1IO 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


love,” he said, as he deposited the glass in 
Lily’s outstretched hands, “ and I do expect 
that mamma hopes you will soon grow old 
enough to learn that there is such a word as 
trial \ and such another as tribulation , but 
that there never was and never will be any 
such word as trialation. It sounds ridicu- 
lous to hear you say so. You know how you 
laughed that time that Jimmy Gray said his 
verse, and the superintendent asked him 
where he found it, and he stood up so stiff 
and straight and said out so loud, ‘ In the 
Book of Joab.’ ” 

Lily laughed anew at the memory of it. 

“Well,” said Harry, “it sounded even 
more curious for you to say trialation. Bill 
Sims kept a-giggling all through Sunday- 
school about it. Every little while he ’d 
whisper, 

“ ‘ Bibbles and bubbles and bialations, 

Tribbles and troubles and trialations,’ 

until the teacher heard him, and gave him a 
lecture.” 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 1 1 1 

“ Dear me,” said Lily, now fully alive to 
the fact of her blunder, “and isn’t there any 
such word really and truly ?” 

“ There is n’t,” said Harry. “ Tribulation 
is what you ought to have said. Mamma 
said I was to read this verse to you,” and 
Harry drew his tiny Testament from his 
pocket and soon found the 16th chapter of 
John's gospel, and read the 23d verse : “ These 
things have I spoken unto you, that in me 
ye might have peace. In the world ye shall 
have tribulation : but be of good cheer, I have 
overcome the world.” “ There,” said Harry, 
drawing a hasty and inconsequent conclu- 
sion, “ is n’t that proof that there is n’t such 
a word ? If it had been trialation , do n’t you 
s’pose Jesus would have said so ?” 

“ Yes,” said Lily, thoughtfully; “ but I guess 
that mamma meant something besides just 
the correct word. I guess she was thinking 
of the ‘ Be of good cheer’ part; do n’t you ?” 

“ I should n’t wonder,” said Harry. “You 
can always think out something more than 


I 12 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


there seems to be at first in almost any- 
thing mamma says. Anyway, Jesus said, ‘ In 
the world ye shall have tribulation,’ so folks 
may as well make up their minds to that.” 

“Yes,” said Lily, a little gloomily, “ espe- 
cially if there ’s a baby to take care of.” 

“Well, now,” said Harry, “ I reckon you’d 
have more, if there was n’t any baby.” 

“ That ’s true,” said Lily, brightening 
again ; “ so I think I ’ll take mamma’s ad- 
vice, and be of good cheer.” 

“ It is Jesus’ advice,” said Harry. 

“ So it is. But mamma always gives Jesus’ 
advice. She gets all her rules out of the Bible.” 

Just then the dinner-bell rang. Lily and 
Harry made haste to put the jar of jelly on 
that particular shelf of the pantry known as 
the “ children’s corner,” before taking their 
places at the table. Margery was just placing 
a blackberry-pudding upon the sideboard as 
the children entered the diningroom. Mrs. 
Percy sat at the head of the table, looking 
very weary and worn. 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


1 x 3 

“ Let me fan you, mamma,” said Lily. 
“ You ’ve had tribulations, too, have n’t you ? 
Are you sick and tired of the sight of black- 
berries ?” 

“ Pretty tired of it,” answered Mrs. Per- 
cy ; “ but the berries are disposed of, and 
that ’s a comfort. If Harry will promise to 
take good care of baby this afternoon, I shall 
enjoy a bath and a nap ever and ever so 
much.” 

“ And if I have trialations,” said Harry, 
roguishly, “shall I get the same sort of med- 
icine as Lily had ?” 

“ I ’ll take care of baby,” said Lily ; “ I 
guess I did n’t do my best this morning, or 
else I should n’t have had such troubles.” 
Lily felt uncomfortable about the thoughtless 
speech she had made to Harry about taking- 
care of baby. 

“All right,” said Harry; “ I'll let you. 
Is n’t blackberry-pudding and cream just the 
jolliest dinner ? I ’m glad I kept at it yester- 
day. I ’d have given out long before I did, 

15 


Mursle Ilargravu. 




MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


only grandma kept on at such a rate, I was 
bound I ’d pick as long as she did. She beat 
papa after all, too. She ’s a regular major at 
picking.” 

Grandma laughed, and said that when she 
first came to the West, her home was in the 
midst of a blackberry-thicket, and she used to 
run out to the bushes and gather berries for 
meals, just as they were needed; and she sup- 
posed that she acquired the habit of picking 
rapidly because of her great fear of snakes, 
which abounded there at that time. 

“ Ugh!” said Lily, “ I wouldn’t have gone 
near the bushes. It seems to me there ’s trou- 
ble mixed up with everything that ’s nice. 
Even down to blackberries there ’s tribula- 
tion all the way through.” 

“Yes,” said grandma; “but then we know 
that ‘ tribulation worketh patience.’ ” 

“ That was in my last Sunday’s verse, 
grandma,” said Lily, “ only I said trialation , 
and all the boys laughed.” 

“They couldn’t help it,” said Harry; 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 1 15 

“ besides, boys laugh at most nothing, any- 
way. They only want half a chance.” 

When Lily was alone with baby that after- 
noon she thought out the meaning that her 
mamma meant to convey to her in the beau- 
tiful words of Jesus, “ Be of good cheer, I 
have overcome the world.” “ Yes,” whis- 
pered Lily to herself, “Jesus has overcome the 
world, and he is strong enough to help me 
to overcome. He will give me the victory. 
Though I have ever so much tribulation, I 
shall overcome it all, if I love and trust him.” 

And in this sweet faith, as Lily trundled 
the baby up and down the garden paths, she 
was indeed “ of good cheer.” 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


1 1 6 


CHAPTER VI. 

HARR Y’S EXCURSION 

Grandma Gerry lived in the woods, about 
three miles over the hills that bounded the 
pretty valley in which Harry and Lily lived, 
in the pleasant town of B. 

Everybody in the town knew Grandma 
Gerry. She was “grandma” to every one of 
the town people, and all of them held the 
good old lady in the highest esteem. She 
lived, when at home, in the very heart of a 
tract of timber known as Payson’s Woods. 
For the greater part of the way from the 
town to her little loghouse a good country 
road skirted the hills. For the remainder of 
the route, however, travellers were obliged to 
take the cowpath which led directly through 
the tract, or else to go by the country road 
which made the journey a good mile longer. 
The town children always took the cowpath 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


117 


over the hills and down along the windings 
of the creek. There was no end of attrac- 
tions for young eyes along the path to Grand- 
ma Gerry’s, and frequently were the green 
hills and greener creek-sides made lively with 
the echoes of children’s voices, shouting, 
whistling, laughing, and hurrahing, as the 
merry-hearted owners sped along on their 
various errands to the loghouse in the timber. 

Grandma Gerry was a useful member of 

B society. The socks she has knitted for 

the old men, and the mittens she has netted 
for the little boys, the pantaloons and vests 
she has made, and the warm, soft comforts 
she has tacked and quilted for the young and 

old alike of the families of B , could testify 

to the usefulness of this lonely dweller in the 
little loghouse at Payson’s Woods. 

Now, though Grandma Gerry was “grand- 
ma ” to all the townsfolk, yet not a single 
blood-relative had she alive in all the world. 
She was the last of her line ; her kinsfolk 
were all gone. 


1 1 8 MAR GIE HAR GRA VE. 

Do you fancy that she was a gloomy, 
mournful-looking old lady, because she had 
outlived her family, and was left alone in the 
house in the woods, and had to sew and knit 
and go out nursing for her living? You are 
mistaken, if you do. Not a cheerier, sunnier 

temper could be found in all B than that 

which shone out of grandma’s soft brown 
eyes, and made music in her gentle, pleasant 
voice. Oh, how the children loved her! 
How they danced and clapped their hands 
when she came to their homes to sew or may 
be to nurse some sick one ! Such famous 
stories as she could tell, such dainty dishes 
as she could prepare, always with an extra 
taste which the well ones could so keenly 
relish. 

But I shall never come to Harry’s excur- 
sion if I go rambling on at this rate about 
Grandma Gerry. I must begin now, where 
I ought to have begun at first, and where 
every good story-teller should begin — at the 
beginning : and that was where Mrs. Percy 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 119 

stood in the door of her pretty cottage, and 
called to Harry and Lily, who were picking 
flowers for the fresh bouquet that very morn- 
ing they gathered for their mamma’s sitting- 
room, and said, “ Harry, how w’ould you like 
to go on an excursion to Pay son’s Woods ?” 

“Firstrate!” shouted Harry, waving his 
nosegay above his head. “ How long may I 
stay ?” 

“ All day, if grandma does n’t object,” an- 
swered his mother. “ Lily may go, too, if she 
likes.” 

Of course Lily liked. She fairly danced 
among the flower-beds at the prospect. 
“ Good ! good !” she exclaimed. “ We haven’t 
been out to grandma’s since strawberries 
were in bloom ; and here it is blackberry 
time.” 

Lily always reckoned time much as Paul 
and Virginia did — by the seasons of flowers 
and fruits, and not by the mere empty names 
of the months. 

Mrs. Percy had a bundle of work for 


120 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


Harry to take to Grandma Gerry, with a note 
containing all the necessary directions. Then 
Grandma Percy intrusted to Lily’s care a tiny 
bandbox, in which was the daintiest and 
whitest of caps, a real widow’s cap, such as 
Grandma Gerry always wore, with a white 
crape border and broad black ribbon. This 
was a present from Lily’s own grandma to 
Grandma Gerry. 

“ That would be a nice cap,” said Harry, 
“ if it only had some brighter ribbons. Pink 
would go well with grandma’s black eyes.” 

“ Her eyes are brown,” said Lily. 

“Well, brown, then. Why do n’t you put 
a pink ribbon on it, or anyway some pink 
flowers, like Mrs. Dempster’s ?” persisted 
Harry, laying a lovely pink rosebud on one 
side of the cap, as he spoke. “ There ! see 
how nice that looks,” he said. 

“ Old women do n’t wear pink rosebuds, 
Harry,” said his grandma. 

“ Mrs. Dempster does,” said Harry, “ lots 
of ’em. And she ’s old.” 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


I 2 I 


“Yes/’ said grandma, “but she is n’t a 
widow. And the Linns were always dressy. 
I suppose Major Dempster likes to have her 
dress just as she always has. She has n’t 
seen much trouble. Grandma Gerry and I 
have grown past rosebuds and pink ribbons, 
I think.” 

“ Well, I ’m going to try an experiment, 
anyhow,” said Harry decidedly; “see if I 
do n’t. I ’m going to pick a bouquet for 
grandma this minute.” 

In a short time, with bundle, bandbox, 
and bouquet, the children set off on their ex- 
cursion to Payson’s Woods. The hillsides 
were fragrant with the breath of summer, the 
day was fine, a delicious west wind was gently 
swaying the long grasses of the meadows and 
stirring the branches of the shadowy trees, 
the birds were singing gayly, and butterflies 
of every hue and size were flitting in the 
bright sunshine. Along the creek all man- 
ner of lovely water-grasses and ferns and 
mosses grew, and trailing vines hung all along 
10 


M;i gle Hargrave. 


122 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


the fringing alders and willows that lined the 
creek’s edge. Harry whittled a boat, with a 
mast and rudder, and launched it on the rip- 
pling stream. He had a long, supple branch 
of elder with which he guided his little bark? 
and freed it from obstructions into which the 
shifting current sometimes drifted it. It 
sailed along so gallantly that Harry wished 
he had a flag for it, and even went so far as 
to propose snipping off one end of grandma’s 
cap-ribbon for that purpose. 

“ That would be stealing !” said Lily in 
horror. 

“.Well,” laughed Harry, “ that ’s what pi- 
rates do. If she hoisted a black flag, she ’d 
be a pirate ship. Do n’t you know that ? I 
hate that black ribbon on grandma’s hat. I 
wish she ’d take it off and put on a nice pink 
one, do n’t you ?” 

Lily, who was a great stickler for the pro- 
prieties, answered that widows always wore 
black ribbons or crape, or “ something awful 
sorrowful-looking;” and Grandma Gerry was 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


123 


just as good a widow as anybody, if she did 
live all by herself, and she didn’t see why she 
should n’t have proper widow’s trimming. 

Harry, being only a boy, failed to appre- 
ciate this line of argument, and answered with 
a contemptuous “ Pooh ! Grandma Gerry 
do n’t ever look awful sorrowful. Do you 
s’pose I cl be going to spend the day with her 
if she did ? I like her because she ’s gay and 
nice and tells such funny stories, and sings, 
4 The frog, he would a-wooing go.’ Oh, but 
that would make a cat laugh.” And Harry 
began to laugh himself at the remembrance 
of the many entertaining diversions that this 
dear old lady had afforded him. While he 
was indulging in his laugh a swirling eddy 
carried the boat between two large' stones, 
and she lost both rudder and mast. 

“ There she goes!” cried Harry. “ She ’s 
struck on the breakers. She ’s a total 
wreck !” 

“I’m glad of it,” said Lily. “I didn’t 
like her any more after you thought about 


124 


MARGIE HARGRAVE . 


stealing the cap-ribbons to make a pirate 
flag." 

“ Pho!” cried Harry, “ I was only in fun. 
Can’t you take a joke?” 

“ Mamma says it ’s wrong to joke about 
sins,” said Lily. “ Besides, I believe you 
would have cut off a piece, if — ” 

“Now, you Lily Percy!” cried Harry, 
flushing up, “you’d better call me a thief!” 

And there was every symptom of a storm 
arising, one of those storms from within , you 
know, to destroy the pleasure of the excur- 
sion ; and there is no telling how all this 
might have ended, had not at this moment a 
cheery voice close by called out, 

“ Why, bless the dear children ! If here 
are n’t Lily and Harry come to help grand- 
ma gather greens for her dinner.” 

And there, sure enough, was grandma 
herself, with her shaker bonnet and her little 
willow basket, come out to search for cresses 
and young mustard and sour-dock and crisp, 
tender lambs’-quarters, for greens. Harry 



4 
























» 


























THE PERCY CHILDREN. 125 

forgot his indignation and Lily her susph 
cions, and both ran to meet the smiling old 
lady, and to tell the errand on which they 
came. 

“You’ll find out what my experiment is 
when we take out that cap,” whispered Harry 
to Lily. 

But as the greens are to be picked before 
that time, I see clearly that this part of the 
story will have to be told in another chapter. 


126 


MARGIE MARGE A VE. 


CHAPTER VII. 

HARRY’S EXPERIMENT. 

What with Grandma Gerry’s questions 
about home folks and home affairs, and Lily’s 
and Harry’s answers, and the children’s vol- 
untary rehearsals of all the news of the town 
that then and there occurred to their minds 
while plucking the fresh young shoots of 
such growing plants as grandma designated, 
the basket was soon filled, and the trio pro- 
ceeded along the narrow path that led from 
the creek side into the deep woods. Just in 
in the midst of the forest was a small cleared 
space, comprising an acre or two, surrounded 
by a low r picket fence, and in the centre of 
this enclosure, nestled among fruit-trees, stood 
grandma’s little home, a small house built of 
logs, and quite overrun with tangled, climb- 
ing vines. Woodbine, trumpet-creeper, honey- 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


127 


suckle, and sweet-brier all grew and clung 
together, and made beautiful the lowly cot- 
tage. 

Outside the window hung the canary’s 
cage, and the little warbler was trilling forth 
his finest notes when Lily and Harry arrived 
at the wicket gate. Chained to a limb of the 
door-yard apple-tree sat Polly, grandma’s pet 
parrot. She hopped upon one leg and look- 
ed knowingly, for a wise parrot was Polly, 
first at Lily and then at Harry. Then, 
perching herself on a low limb, she called 
out in shrill tones, “Back again, grandma? 
Got anything for Poll ?” 

Lily had a jumble in her pocket, which 
she offered. Polly, before tasting it, briskly 
acknowledged the favor by screaming, 
“Thankee, miss; thankee, ma’am. Polly 
loves good girls and boys. Polly loves grand- 
ma.” Then she nibbled a bite from the jum- 
ble, and hopping again to the grass-plat, stood 
on one leg again, and turning her head up 
drolly, said in her shrillest tones, “ Tell ye a 


128 


MARGIE HARGRA VE. 


secret. Can’t ye guess it ? Grandma’s got 
company !” 

“Indeed!” said grandma. “And was 
Polly well-mannered ? What did she say to 
grandma’s company?” 

“ Good Polly!” said the bird, stroking her 
feathers complacently. “‘Take a seat, sir. 
Wipe your feet, sir.’ ” 

“ It ’s the minister,” said Lily ; “ I see him 
sitting by the back window.” 

Then they went in with grandma and 
greeted Dr. Williston, who had come to make 
a call, and who was so well used to Polly’s 
ways that he knew grandma could not be far 
off, and would soon be back, else Polly would 
not have told him to take a seat, but would 
rather have screamed out “ Grandma ’s gone. 
Polly’s all alone.” 

There was not a man in all B with 

whom the children were on better terms than 
with their dear minister. He was as popular 
with them all as was grandma herself. After 
cordially saluting grandma and her little 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


129 


guests, the doctor reseated himself by the 
window that opened out upon the grassy 
bleaching plat and the neat garden spot. In 
one corner of this grass plat, under a fringe 
of swamp willows, bubbled up a living spring 
of cool, sweet water. Lily filled two glasses 
with the sparkling water, and brought them 
to grandma and the minister. 

“ While sitting here waiting for grandma,” 
said Dr. Williston, as he thanked Lily for the 
sweet draught, “ I have been thinking out 
my sermon for next Sunday; and I found my 
text in that cool, fresh, never-failing spring 
out there among the willows.” 

“ I can guess it,” said Harry : ‘ Ho, every 
one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters.’ ” 

“ No,” said the doctor. “ The words of 
my text were spoken by the same prophet, 
however.” 

“Then they’re in Isaiah,” said Lily 
thoughtfully. “ Is it, ‘ I will make the wilder- 
ness a pool of water, and the dry land springs 
of water?” 


U rgie Uargravo. 


17 


I 3° 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


The pastor smiled, but shook his head. 
“ See,” he said, “ the fringe of willows edging 
the stream that trickles away amid the moist 
grasses. I said I found my text in the spring: 
but in my text may be found not only the 
spring itself, but also the grass, the willows, 
and the little trickling brook. This is the 
text : ‘ I will pour my Spirit upon thy seed, 
and my blessing upon thine offspring ; and 
they shall spring up as among the grass, as 
willows by the water-courses.’ The living 
spring there beneath the willows, freshening 
and quickening and blessing all about it, is 
like God’s Spirit poured out upon the hearts 
of his children, causing all about them to re- 
ceive healthful blessing from it.” 

“ That ’ll be our sermon especially, Grand- 
ma,” said Lily delightedly, “ because we know 
the text first.” 

Grandma said it would be as good as two 
sermons to her, for she should be thinking 
over it all the week beforehand. She should 
not go to the spring, or look out at the wil- 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


131 

lows or the trickling brook, without thinking 
of the blessed promise. 

“ I Ve found it,” cried Harry, who had 
been turning the leaves of the big Bible. “ It 
is in the forty-fourth chapter of Isaiah, and 
it ’s part of the third and all of the fourth 
verse.” 

Perhaps some people would think it un- 
dignified for a minister to talk so freely of 
his sermon thoughts, and even to tell his text 
beforehand, to little children too. Maybe it 
was ; but then Dr. Williston did n’t think 
much of dignity, and did think a great deal of 
little folks and their love. 

Lily had put the bouquet they had brought 
to grandma in some water, and was just 
about placing it on the dresser, when Harry 
exclaimed, “ Oh, if you please, I ’ll take a nice 
rosebud out of that posy.” Then turning to 
the old lady, he said, “ Grandma, I picked 
this rosebud on purpose for you to wear in 
your new cap that my grandma has sent you. 
She says you are too old to want pink rib- 


i3 2 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


bons and rosebuds ; but I do n’t think so, 
and I ’d like to try the experiment. I sup- 
pose we can’t change that horrid black rib- 
bon, but you ’ll wear this rosebud in it to-day, 
wont you ?” 

And Harry twirled the cap which Lily 
had taken from the box on the fingers of one 
hand, while with the other he sought a fit 
place on which to pin the bud that he held 
between his teeth. 

Grandma and the doctor laughed heartily 
at Harry’s frank expression of his opinion, 
and grandma said she quite agreed with 
Grandma Percy about an old woman like her 
wanting pink rosebuds. “ Rosebuds are for 
youth and beauty,” said the old lady. 

“ This rosebud is for Grandma Gerry and 
beauty,” said Harry as emphatically as he 
could with his shut teeth. Then going up to 
Dr. Williston, he pointed to one side of the 
cap, and said, “ There’s a good place. Wont 
you please pin it on ?” And the good doc- 
tor, saying that he was on Harry’s side of 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


i33 


the question, actually pinned the rosebud into 
the fair white border of the cap, and begged 
grandma to wear it there for that day at 
least. 

“ Let me brush your hair and put the cap 
on; may I, Grandma ?” asked Lily. And 
while she smoothed the shining silvery locks 
from the old lady’s forehead, and arranged 
the cap, and tied the ribbons in a tasteful 
bow, Harry, leaning against the doctor’s 
shoulder, with that good man’s arm around 
him, commented on the exceeding fitness of 
just such a rosebud fpr just such a face as 
grandma’s. 

“ Our boy has a fit sense of the beautiful,” 
said the minister, giving Harry a little hug. 
“You’ll wear it, wont you, to please him — 
and me ?” 

“And me!” added Lily. “ It does n’t look 
a bit gaudy. I thought maybe it might; I 
was a little doubtful ; but it does n’t ; it’s just 
sweet. It makes me think of a text too,” 
said Lily softly: “ ‘ I am the Rose of Sharon.’” 


i34 


MARGIE MAR GRAVE. 


“Yes, dear,” said grandma, smiling, “ I’ll 
wear it all day ; and when it withers I ’ll 
lay it away among my treasures, and when- 
ever I look at it, it will remind me of my 
dear children and of my pastor, and better 
than all, of that precious Rose of Sharon 
that blooms for all of us, and shall never 
fade.” 

Grandma arose, and laying the cap she 
had worn before in the little bandbox, took 
up the basket of greens to carry them into 
the next room. 

“ Give me a pan, Grandma,” said Lily, 
“ and Harry and I will pick them for you.” 

“ And we can enjoy a singing service at 
the same time,” said the good pastor. 

“ Delightful !” said grandma, hastening 
back with the pan and the greens. 

“Now,” said the doctor, “let us sing 
four hymns. Each choose one, beginning 
with the youngest. . Lily, it ’s your first 
choice.” 

Lily chose, “ Saviour, like a shepherd lead 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


*35 


us.” Then Harry chose “ Children oi the 
Heavenly King” — a hymn which grandma 
said it always did her heart good to hear. 

When they had sung these, Dr. Williston 
chose “ Hark, my soul, it is the Lord.” And 
last of all, grandma chose “ How firm a 
foundation, ye saints of the Lord.” 

Harry and Lily had fine voices, and were 
good singers ; and as they were quite familiar 
with the words, the singing was something 
pleasant to hear. Grandma wiped away the 
tears of gratitude from her eyes more than 
once during the tuneful service ; Lily and 
Harry and the minister looked as happy as 
they could be; the canary at the door trilled 
his rarest accompaniment; and the rosebud 
in the snowy cap border at grandma’s cheek 
never once thought of withering. 

“ Now I must go,” said Dr. Williston, 
rising. “ Have n’t we had a nice visit, chil- 
dren? and don’t we enjoy Grandma Gerry 
and her dear little wildwood home ?” 

“ Yes, indeed, sir,” said they both. 


136 


MARGIE MARGRAVE . 


“ And shall we not all try to live so as to 
have a sure hope of meeting each other in 
that beautiful home prepared for us from the 
foundation of the world, where we shall sit 
with all our loved Christian friends at the 
Saviour’s feet, and sing the song of the re- 
deemed ?” 

He held Harry and Lily by the hand as 
he asked them this ; and turning to grandma 
he said, “ And I believe, Grandma, that if 
aged Christians would oftener set a fresh, 
bright rosebud in their sombre ribbons, for 
the eyes of the children who look up to 
them, it would help instead of hindering the 
little ones on their journey to the heavenly 
land." 

Lily and Harry accompanied Dr. Willis- 
ton on his way as far as the creek. There 
he took the hill-path that led to a farmhouse 
he wished to visit, while they went happily 
on their way home. 


THE PERCY CHILDREN, 


l 37 


CHAPTER VIII. 

HARR Y’S HO LIDA YS. 

When Christmas time came around, there 
was an unwonted shadow hanging over 
Harry Percy’s home. Grandma was very, 
very ill, and Mrs. Percy, wearied with anxious 
care and long watching, was well nigh ex- 
hausted. Mr. Percy was far away from home 
attending to important business, and faithful 
Louisa, the hired girl, found little time for 
anything beyond the burdens of each day, so 
that much of the care of baby fell on Lily, 
while to Harry was committed the whole 
charge of the barn and stable, and the neces- 
sary attention to the dumb animals on the 
place. Baby, who missed both mamma and 
grandma, found more opportunities for mis- 
chief than ever before, and vexed poor Lily 
daily until she cried. Never, thought Harry, 
had Louisa required half so many pails of 
18 


Margie Ha-gravo, 


1 3 S MARGIE HARGRAVE. 

water and barrows of wood as now, and never 
were there so many errands to be done. 

To add to the general discomfort and 
perplexity, no preparations for Christmas 
cheer had been made. Poor Lily, who had 
hoped to make some little love gifts of her 
own fashioning, could not contrive to find 
a half hour in which to be alone; for baby 
cried whenever she shut the door of her 
room, and his noise disturbed poor grandma 
sadly. So, sorrowfully enough, she had given 
up all hope of contributing, even in her small 
way, to the holiday cheer. And Harry, now 
that papa came not from the city every night 
with basket or parcel, found chance for noth- 
ing but steady and necessary work for the 
general meal, and had no room in his busy 
brain for thought of extra effort. 

One morning, when Mrs. Percy came 
down to breakfast looking paler and more 
troubled than usual, and sighed as she said, 
“ Poor dears, you will have no holidays this 
year — at least no holiday pleasures.” Lily and 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


*39 


Harry felt their hearts sink within them, and 
it was with great difficulty that they repress- 
ed their tears. But being sensible children, 
they understood how papa’s long absence and 
grandma’s painful illness had combined to 
cause them the loss of the accustomed holi- 
day joys, and knew that their dear mother’s 
heart felt keenly their disappointment; and 
they determined for her sake to bear it brave- 
ly. and to make no selfish complaints. 

After his usual morning duties were all 
performed, Harry went to the stable to saddle 
Fleetfoot for his daily ride to the postoffice. 
As he was taking the harness from its hook 
in the barn, he thought he heard the sound 
of a sob. Listening a moment he felt sure 
that some one was weeping bitterly near by. 
Forgetting everything else he at once began 
to look around for the cause of the unusual 
sound, and soon discovered, crouching in the 
bottom of the sleigh, in the very farthest 
nook of the carriage house, poor Lily, sobbing 
as if her heart would break. 


140 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


“ Lily Percy !” he exclaimed, “ what are 
you doing here ?” 

Lily lifted her tear-stained face, and some- 
thing like a smile was around her lips as she 
ceased crying to reply to her brother’s super- 
fluous inquiry in her own characteristic way : 
“ I should think you could see what I ’m doing 
here ; I ’m crying.” 

“ What for ?” asked Harry, no wise abash- 
ed by Lily’s covert sarcasm. He was quite 
used to that. 

“ Because I ’ve got to,” answered Lily em- 
phatically. “ My heart is broke with all this 
trouble, and I do n’t want mamma to know ; 
and I ’ve either got to mope and poke all 
through the holidays, or else have it all done 
with now. So there, go away and let me 
alone. Boys can whistle, and fling stones, 
and kick their boot-toes out, and do lots of 
things when they ’re put out and plagued ; 
but girls can’t do anything but cry. Now 
go, and do n’t come bothering here any more.” 

“ Ho ! ho ! ha ! ha !” How Harry did laugh 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


4i 


at the pitiful case made out by his mournful 
little sister. Not being a bad-hearted boy, 
however, he quickly, as lie saddled Fleetfoot, 
offered her some bits of consolation. 

“Never mind,” he said, “I’ll give you a 
Christmas present, and a New Year’s gift; 
and so ’ll plenty of others, see if they do n’t ; 
and maybe something jolly will happen, after 
all.” Then with a mischievous twinkle in his 
eye, he added, “ Why do n’t you try some of 
those prescriptions you ’re always portioning 
out to me when I ’m up a tree, you know ?” 

“ There you are talking slang again,” in- 
terrupted Lily reproachfully. But Harry paid 
no heed. It was his turn now at prescribing, 
and he meant to improve his opportunity. 
“ Say your catechism,” he continued, “ or 
some verses in the Bible. Or sing a hymn; 

‘ When Hannah, pressed with grief,’ for in- 
stance.” 

“ Go away, you teasing boy,” cried Lily, 
sobbing afresh. And Harry went, laughing 
merrily, as he cantered off upon Fleetfoot. 


I 42 


MARGIE MARGRAVE . 


But his words remained behind, and the 
familiar lines of grandma’s old hymn kept 
coming back to Lily, as she crouched and 
cried in the bottom of the sleigh, 

“ When Hannah, pressed with grief, 

Poured out her soul in prayer, 

She quickly found relief 
Nor sought it vainly there.” 

And as Lily could not get rid of the 
words, she gradually fell to thinking seriously 
of them. Her sobs and tears ceased, and 
presently, she, like Hannah of old, sought 
relief from that sure source whence none 
ever sought in vain. When, a half hour later, 
she returned to the house, no traces of tears 
were on her face, and she set resolutely about 
bearing her cross of doing without holiday 
pleasures, for the sake of Him who “ pleased 
not himself,” and whose loving smile sancti- 
fies even the weakest effort of his followers 
to tread the path he trod. 

Mrs. Percy soon came into the nursery 
where Lily was engaged in amusing baby 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


43 


with his acrobats. Her face wore a Had 

o 

smile. “ Lily, dear,” she said, “ Aunt Lucy 
has sent for you and baby to spend the holi- 
days with your cousins at Woodlawn. They 
are to have a tree, and a New Year’s party. 
I am very glad for your sake, my child ; and 
now, take the best care of baby while I pack 
your things. Your Uncle Fred will call for 
you this afternoon. Aunt Lucy agrees to 
relieve you entirely of the care of baby ; and 
the little fellow loves Aunt Lucy so that I can 
feel content to have him with her.” 

How Lily’s face shone. “O mamma!” 
was all she said in answer to the glad sur- 
prise. Her heart was too full for words. 
But when her mamma kissed her and left the 
room to prepare her for the jaunt, Lily mur- 
mured to herself, “ I only asked God to make 
me quite willing to say, ‘ Thy will be done 
and to think how he has answered my pray- 
er! Oh, I am too happy.” 

Just then Harry cantered up to the door 
with the mail matter. Mrs. Percy hastened 


144 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


to break the seals of her letters, and glance 
hastily over the contents of each. “ Three 
separate invitations for Harry to spend his 
holidays,” said she, “one from Cousin Will, 
one from Uncle and Aunt Blair, and one 
from Ned and Bert.” These last were two 
city cousins who had visited Harry the pre- 
vious summer, and had obtained Mrs. Percy’s 
promise that he should return their visit du- 
ring the winter, when the city was gay and 
attractive. “O dear!” cried Harry, as his 
mother read one after another of the cordial 
invitations ; “ what a pity a fellow could n’t 
be three of himself. Which shall it be, 
mamma? Uncle Blair’s, or Ned and Bert’s? 
You know I can go to Cousin Will’s any 
time. Let it be to Ned and Bert’s, please.” 

He was fairly dancing with delight. Sud- 
denly he sobered down. “ I can’t go to any 
of them,” he said. “You couldn’t do with- 
out me, to feed, and water, and go errands. 
Pshaw! I wish I hadn’t got the invitations. 
There ’s no use thinking about it.” And 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


*45 


poor Harry caught Fleetfoot by the forelock 
and turned away toward the stable, to hide 
the tears that would come. 

“ Poor boy,” said his mother, and she 
stooped to pick up baby, that she too might 
conceal the gathering tears. Lily ran after 
Harry. It was her turn now to offer conso- 
lation. She did not advise him to say either 
catechism or prayers, nor even to sing 

“When Hannah, pressed with grief.” 

That would have been easy to do. She did 
instead something that was very, very hard 
for her. 

“ You can go, Harry,” she said. “ I ’ll do 
your chores, and run the errands.” 

“You!” said Harry, a trifle scornfully. 
“ I ’d like to see you cleaning the stable, and 
foddering the stock.” 

There were two cows, a yearling heifer, 
and a pretty bossy, besides a few goats and 
kids, that Harry delighted to designate as 
“ the stock.” 


Margie Hargrave. 


19 


146 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


“ Louisa could help me,” suggested Lily 
meekly. 

“And let the baby tumble into the soft 
soap barrel, likely as not, in the meantime,” 
submitted Harry, with something of a sneer 
in his voice. 

“ Baby wont be here. He’s going away 
this afternoon, to Aunt Lucy’s for the holi- 
days. Uncle Fred is coming for us. They ’re 
going to have a Christmas-tree, and a New 
Year’s party, and Aunt Lucy is to take all 
the care of baby, and let me have a splendid 
time,” began Lily. 

“Well, how on earth then are you going 
to do so much choring and errand-running 
for me, I’d like to know?” asked Harry, 
interrupting her. 

“ I ’m going to stay at home, and let you 
go to Ned and Bert’s,” said Lily. “ I could 
manage very well, I know. It wont be so 
very hard for me either, because you see I ’d 
got quite resigned and contented about stay- 
ing at home, before Aunt Lucy sent. I took 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


147 


your advice about ‘ Hannah, pressed with 
grief,’ you know : and I ’d made up my mind.” 

“You — little — brick!” said Harry, dash- 
ing away a tear, and in the exuberance of 
his appreciation, descending again to slang, 
for which Lily did not hesitate to rebuke him 
heartily. 

“ Well, I ’m not going to be outdone by a 
girl. You and baby just go on. I'll stay at 
home, and tend to my business like a man ; 
and you needn’t say a word to mamma about 
my caring. I don't care so very much.” 

And for answer, Lily put her arms around 
Harry’s neck, and hugged and hugged him. 
And so it was all happily settled. 


14S 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


CHAPTER IX. 

LILTS CHRISTMAS BLESSING. 

When, just before leaving home for her 
holiday visit, Lily went to her grandma’s 
room to bid the dear invalid “ Good-by,” she 
was touched by the words that grandma 
whispered to her at parting. 

“ God be with you, dear, and grant you a 
happy time. A Merry Christmas and a Hap- 
py New Year! And best of all, may He 
give you a true Christmas blessing, such as 
caused the wise men of the East to rejoice 
when they saw the Star. Do you know why 
they were so full of joy, dear ?” 

“ I suppose,” said Lily, “ they were so glad 
because Christ was born.” 

“Yes,” said grandma. “And that joy 
should be the sweetest and gladdest of all 
joys in every heart at Christmas time. God 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


149 


grant it may be yours, my child. Had Christ 
not come to be our Saviour, there could have 
been no joy in life worth having. The bless- 
ed thought of Christmas is, that 

“ ‘ Christ once born in Bethlehem, 

Is living now and here.’ ” 

Uncle Fred was waiting at the door, and 
baby was calling and shouting for Lily to 
“Come, and go riding;” and the little girl 
could only press dear grandma’s hand and 
promise her to ask for the Christmas blessing 
she so craved for her, before she was sum- 
moned by her mamma to enter the carriage, 
and be driven away across the prairies to 
Aunt Lucy’s beautiful farm. 

A great storm was gathering as Lily ar- 
rived at Woodlawn. Clouds were heaped up 
in the eastern sky; the wind blew in fitful 
gusts, and great flakes of snow came whirling 
down, first droppings of the feathery fall so 
soon to follow. 

The merry young folks at Woodlawn 
were delighted with the prospect. A snowy 


MARGIE HARGRAVE . 


J 5° 

Christmas is full of delight to children who 
are favored with homes and home-comforts; 
and at Woodlawn there was ample comfort. 

Great open fireplaces, with shining brass 
andirons heaped with burning hickory logs, 
gave out abundant light and heat. Aunt 
Lucy enjoyed wood-fires, and as Woodlawn 
comprised a tract of several hundred acres, 
many of which were covered with a heavy 
growth of timber, there was no scarcity of 
fuel. 

All through the house went the merry 
children, racing and singing and chatting 
gayly of the many pleasures in store for them, 
when suddenly Bert cried out, “ Oh, see the 
snow ! It comes from all sides at once. How 
dark it grows ! You can’t even see the barn ; 
It is just like those storms Uncle Ben told us 
of in the Scottish mountains.” 

“ Saint Nicholas will get lost, and never 
find our house,” said little Lucy dolefully. 
“ Uncle Ben got lost in the mountains in a 
snow-storm.” 


THE PER C Y CHILDREN. 1 5 1 

Lucy wondered why the children laughed 
so merrily at what seemed to her such a dis- 
mal possibility, but her mind was soon turned 
from Saint Nicholas and his fate, by Aunt 
Lucy’s remark, “ My only fear is, that Selim 
may not be able to find the fat turkey that 
Aunt Becky wishes to dress for our Christ- 
mas dinner. Turkeys wander about and hide 
in such out-of-the-way places.” 

“ Oh!” cried Lily, “/can find him; or at 
least he will be sure to find me. He always 
does find me when I have on this scarlet me- 
rino. I ’ll run out to the barnyard, and he ’ll 
chase me clear up to the kitchen-door. See 
if he does n’t.” 

“ She supposes turkeys can see better 
than folks,” said Little Lucy. “ It ’s getting 
awful dark. Guess you ’ll have to light the 
Christmas-tree right off.” 

But Aunt Lucy knew a better way of 
lighting up. She took the great poker and 
gently stirred the embers under the glowing 
logs in the fireplace, .and in a moment the 


* 5 * 


MARGIE HARGRAVE . 


ruddy flames and crackling, snapping sparks 
went leaping and flashing up the wide chim- 
ney throat, and filled all the room with a 
brilliant light. 

The children were shouting gleefully in 
the enjoyment of the pretty sight, when sud- 
denly they were surprised by a violent ring- 
ing of the front-door bell. They ran into the 
hall just as the door was flung wide open, 
and through the entrance rushed, all to- 
gether, a great gusty swirl of snowy blast, 
poor Lily on flying feet, and close at her heels 
the old turkey-cock with tail outspread, and 
every feather bristling with anger, while both 
wings flapped and beat viciously against the 
unlucky ankles of the wearer of the scarlet 
frock. 

“ Oh, do take him off !” screamed Lily, 
gasping between a sob and a laugh. “ He 
caught me before I was ready for him. I just 
ran down the garden-walk and plumped right 
on him snuggled down under the pear-tree. 
My, but he was mad! I hardly knew which 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


*53 


way to turn, and I guess I turned the wrong 
way after all, for I surely thought I was steer- 
ing for the kitchen-door. Horrid old gob- 
bler! Those wings of his hurt some. I 
do n’t believe he has an amiable feather in 
his whole body.” 

In the general glee that followed Gob- 
ble was captured, and carried in triumph to 
the cook, while “ Lily’s Christmas Turkey 
Hunt” made a deal of sport for the merry 
boys. 

All night and all the next day it snowed. 
The roads, the fences, the gate-posts, were 
heaped with the feathery flakes, and on 
Christmas Eve the storm was yet raging. 

Aunt Lucy, true to her word, permitted 
the children to be in the room where stood 
the wonderful tree. She allowed each one 
to hang his or her gifts — carefully screened 
from view in fancy boxes — upon the branch- 
es ; and when each child was brimful of 
happiness, Aunt Lilian led the little company 
in a sweet Christmas carol of love and praise 
20 


H rgi4 Bf irsrrave. 


i54 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


to God for the gift of his dear Son, the bless- 
ed Lord of Christmas. 

When Lily awoke at an early hour on 
Christmas morning, the storm was over, the 
sky was clear, and the stars were shining 
brightly. Lily wondered if one glowing star, 
whose clear rays seemed purer and steadier 
than the rest, might not have been that 
Christmas star whose holy rays led the wise 
men of the East as they journeyed toward 
the city of Bethlehem, where Christ the Lord 
was born. She thought of her grandma’s 
kind words, and she repeated to herself the 
verse, “ When they saw the star they rejoiced 
with exceeding great joy.” Then kneeling 
at the bedside she off ered her morning prayer 
with unwonted fervor, closing with the words 
“ O Lord, please give me a Christmas bless- 
ing. Make me ever so happy this Christmas 
day, and may I be happy most of all, because 
Jesus has come to save me from my sins.” 

Soon after, the cousins were shouting and 
calling to her in the hall below, and as she 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


*55 


bounded away to join the merry company as- 
sembled about the lovely, gift-laden Christ- 
mas-tree, her face shone, and her heart beat 
lightly with a sweet peace that underlaid all 
the merriment that found expression on her 
lips ; for Lily had asked in faith, and received 
faith’s sweet response. 

The lights gleamed softly from the tapers 
on the Christmas-tree. The bells and balls 
and stars and clusters of ornaments glittered 
dazzlingly in the pleasant light. The fruits 
and flowers and merry good cheer of Christ- 
mas hung in tempting profusion from the 
tall tree’s branches. It was a right royal 
tree, and the joy of the children was more 
than royal joy. 

Before distributing the gifts Aunt Lucy 
read aloud the second chapter of St. Mat- 
thew’s gospel, and all the happy band sang 
to sweetest music the beautiful carol, 

“ Ring, merry bells ! ring, merry bells ! 

Christ, the Lord, is born.” 

And dear Aunt Lucy, as she laid each 


156 MARGIE HARGRAVE. 

pretty gift before its owner, said tenderly and 
affectionately, “ A Christmas gift. May the 
dear Christ’s blessing rest on both gift and 
giver. For the blessedness of Christmas is, 
that on this day God’s best gift to mankind 
was made. We give our love-gifts to each 
other on this glad day, in memory of our 
blessed King, and in something of the loving 
spirit of our Father in heaven. ‘ For God so 
loved the world that he gave his only begot- 
ten Son, that whosoever believeth on him 
should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ ” 
So many were the gifts bestowed and re- 
ceived, and so absorbing was the interest, that 
the dinner-bell rang before all the presents had 
been sufficiently inspected. After due enjoy- 
ment of “ Lily’s turkey ” — as the boys would 
call him — and feasting with merry zest upon 
the good cheer of Aunt Lucy’s Christmas 
dinner, the children were invited to make 
ready for a grand sleigh-ride in Major How- 
ard’s new six-horse sleigh. Such happiness ! 
The buoyant spirits of the happy lads and 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


x 5 7 


lasses, found vent in merry screams and clap- 
pings and shouts of joy, as they scampered 
off to find their various wrappings. 

But Lily in her deeper joy had bliss too 
full for words. She stole away to her room 
and whispered a loving word of thankfulness 
to God. “ For,” said she, “ I have got the 
true Christmas blessing. I am as happy as 
ever I can be; and most of all happy, because 
the Lord of Christmas is my Saviour and 
King.” 


MARGIE HARGRAVE . 


* 5 8 


CHAPTER X. 

THE PARSONAGE HOPES. 

The happy holiday week was drawing to 
a close. New Year’s Eve had come. On 
the day following New Year’s Day, the chil- 
dren who were guests at Woodlawn must 
return to their homes. 

“ I would like to watch the old year out 
and the new year in,” said Bert, as the chil- 
dren formed a large half-circle in front of the 
sittingroom fire after supper. 

“ Oh, so would I,” said Lily. “ I did so 
last year. We went to a watch-meeting; 
and just as the clock struck twelve all the 
congregation began the hymn, 

“ ‘ Come, let us anew 
Our journey pursue ; 

Roll round with the year, 

And never stand still till the Master appear/ 

“ Well, suppose we all sit up and sing it 


THE PERCY CHILDREN, 


J 59 


to-night when the clock strikes twelve,” sug- 
gested Eva, who was impulsive and enthusi- 
astic. 

“ How shall we keep awake ?” asked An- 
nie, who was practical in everything. 

“ Tell stories and play games,” said Bob. 

“ Our stories are all stale,” said Lily. 
“ We Ve told them over so often there is n’t 
a bit of ‘snap’ left in them.” 

“ Let ’s get Aunt Lilian and Cousin Bes- 
sie to tell us some real, sure enough, nice 
stories,” said Eva. “It’s New Year’s Eve. 
They ought to be ever so amiably inclined.” 

“ Good ! good !” cried all the youngsters, 
and at once they ran to Aunt Lilian and 
begged permission to watch the old year out ; 
and then began some pretty coaxing for 
stories. 

Aunt Lilian proved quite coaxable, and 
promised a “good, long story, mostly about 
boys,” on condition that Cousin Bessie should 
tell one of equal length about girls. 

“ I know just one,” said Miss Bessie, 


160 MARGIE HARGRAVE. 

“and that is out of season. It is a Christmas 
story, and Christmas has just come and gone.” 

“Ah,” cried Bert, “I’ve heard Judge 
Berry say that it was nine o’clock, according 
to law, until the clock struck ten. bo, I 
reckon we may as well conclude that it is 
this Christmas until next Christmas comes.” 

“ Anyway, it is holiday week,” said Annie ; 
“and Christmas times are holiday times, and 
therefore a Christmas story is not out of 
season during holiday week.” 

“ Annie has won,” said Cousin Bessie. 
“ You shall have my story.” 

So, after spending some hours in various 
games, “ The Muffin Man,” “ Blind Man’s 
Buff,” “ Magic Music,” and “ Puss in a Cor- 
ner,” the children gathered about Aunt Lucy, 
and listened with eager ears to the story of 

THE PARSONAGE DOVES. 

The pastor was going to a Sunday-school 
convention. He was to be gone from home 
at least three days; and at Woodbine Par- 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 161 

sonage the family arose with the dawn to 
have an early breakfast with papa, and to 
give him the good-by kisses when he should 
start away in his open buggy, with faithful 
Daisy in the shafts. 

Often as this good pastor was called away 
from home on one or another tour of mercy 
or helpful duty, yet, somehow, the family* 
never became quite used to it. That is, they 
never took it as a matter of course, and 
ceased to make any ado over the frequent 
exits and returns of the beloved father. 
There were always little extra attentions to 
the dear papa who had to “ go away off 
fresh nut-cakes for his lunch; a nosegay for 
his button-hole; and most likely an orange, 
or a nickel’s worth of peanuts to be slyly 
stuffed into his duster pocket by little Bob- 
by ; and oh ! a never-ending lot of love and 
caresses, and charges to take care of him- 
self, and not to stay long, and to be sure to 
write just the minute he got there. 

This early morning, Mr. Ray, the pastor, 
21 


Margie Hargrave. 


162 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


being his own stable-boy, of course found it 
needful to devote some time to the care of 
faithful Daisy, who for so many years had 
carried him upon his ministerial itineracies. 

The pastor’s oldest son, a lad of ten years, 
could feed and harness Daisy quite well, but 
was not skilled in grooming, and could only 
look on while his father combed and brushed 
her glossy brown hair, and wish very hard 
that he were competent for the task. 

“ Don’t you wish we could go, Jim?” said 
Master Georgie to the schoolmate who ac- 
companied him home and had passed the 
night at the parsonage for the first time, and 
who now stood near him handing tufts of 
blue grass to patient Daisy who munched 
perseveringly, while the parson rubbed her 
sleek limbs. “We have such jolly times 
when we go with papa. He lets us get out 
and scare up quails, or gather nuts and per- 
simmons, or anything there is; and drive! 
oh, my! why, he lets us drive most all the 
way, because he writes notes and things, and 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


63 


never bothers you at all if you keep in the 
road. Once I drove right smack into the 
middle of the creek ; did n’t see the bridge, 
because I was watching some geese going 
north, and Daisy wanted a drink, so she 
marched right square into the creek, and put 
down her head, and jerked the lines out of 
my hands, and — ” 

“And then didn’t you catch a scolding 
though?” exclaimed Jim. 

“ No. Papa just laughed, and put his 
notes in his pocket, and backed her out, and 
said he guessed he’d drive a little way.” 

“Sho!” said Jim admiringly; “I’d like to 
go riding with him. If that had been me 
and my dad, I ’d got a good whipping.” 

The minister was pouring a pail of fresh 
water into Daisy’s trough as Jim said this; 
and he looked kindly but gravely at the little 
boy, and said, “‘Honor thy father,’ James, 
my boy. ‘ Dad ’ does not sound well from a 
child’s mouth when speaking of his dear 
father. You have a good father, James. Be 


164 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


careful to obey him in all things. Now, you 
and George may run to the orchard, if you 
like, and fetch me a couple of peach switches, 
with a nice tuft of leaves at the top of each, 
to brush the flies from my good Daisy’s back.” 

Just then a pure white dove, and one 
deeply mottled with dark color, came flying 
down from the cote, near the barn, and lit 
on the minister’s shoulder. They were his 
daughter Nelly’s favorite pets, who came at 
her call wherever they might be. 

“ Good morning, Pearl and Cloud,” said 
Mr. Ray, as the pretty things cooed softly to 
him; then gently tossing one to Jim and one 
to George, he bade them take an airing in 
the orchard before asking to be fed. 

But both doves nestled down in Jim’s 
arms, and were carried by him to the orchard. 
When, a half hour later, the family gathered 
around the breakfast table, it was observed 
that George’s guest was not with them. The 
bell was rung again, and Georgie went in 
search of him : but he was nowhere to be 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 165 

found. “He’s full of tricks and capers,” 
suggested Georgie. “ He has hid somewhere 
to tease me, I guess.” 

So the bell was rung for the third time, 
and the breakfast was resumed, but no Jim 
made his appearance, either at breakfast or 
prayers. When the dear papa was fairly 
started on his journey, just as the rosy sun- 
rise streamed full across the eastern sky, 
Nelly went out upon the vine-wreathed por- 
tico where she always fed her pets, and called 
her docile favorites. 

“ Where are you, Pearl and Cloud ? Coo- 
0-0, coo-o-o, coo-o-o, dovies,” but alas! not as 
usual did the pretty pets respond to their 
young mistress’ gentle call. Nelly walked 
down the garden path toward the cotes, call- 
ing and cooing coaxingly, but in vain. The 
doves came not, and the cote was empty. 
Alarmed for the safety of her pets, Nelly 
hastened to the house. “ My doves are gone,” 
she exclaimed. “Georgie, did you see them 
when you were at the barn with papa?” 


1 66 MAR GIE BAR GRA VE. 

“Of course I did. Jim had em. He 
must have hid ’em. He stopped out by the 
fodder stack, when I carried the switches to 
the barn. That’s the last I saw of him. I 
thought he’d gone in the house.” 

“He’ll get tired of fasting, soon,” said 
Mrs. Ray, “and will probably think it a poor 
time for his tricks.” 

“ I do n’t like such tricks,” said Nelly. “ I 
shouldn’t think he’d wish to plague me, for 
I ’m sure I tried to make his visit pleasant. 
I know every one says he’s a bad boy, but I 
tried to show him that I trusted him to be as 
good as any other boy, anyway.” 

“ They ’re a bad lot, I tell you,” said 
Georgie mischievously, as Nelly finished her 
remark in a tone not very inspiring to confi- 
dence in her good opinion of the genus boy. 
As the day wore away, and the doves came 
not, Georgie was despatched to Jim’s house 
to make inquiries concerning them. Jim was 
sawing wood when Georgie found him. 

“What made you slip off before break- 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 167 

fast ? and what did you do with Nell’s doves ?” 
cried Georgie. 

“Nelly’s doves!” echoed Jim: “Why, I 
left them in the barn; at least they flew in 
there just after you took in the switches — ” 

“Oh! that’s very likely,” interrupted 
Georgie. “We thought you’d hid them just 
for fun; but if you say that — pshaw! I 
did n’t think you were mean enough to steal" 
added Georgie with stinging emphasis. 

“Steal!" cried Jim, turning very red. 
“What do you mean? Do you think I’d 
come to see you, and stay all night, and then 
steal your sister’s doves ?” 

“Yes, I do,” said Georgie bluntly. “The 
doves are gone, and you had them. Why 
did you sneak off before breakfast, if you 
was n’t up to some meanness ? Everybody 
knows you’re a bad boy, but we didn’t sup- 
pose you were a thief /” and Georgie march- 
ed off in a spasm of righteous indignation, 
leaving poor Jim trembling with anger and 
shame. 


168 MARGIE MARGRAVE . 

“ She was so good to me, ana she thinks 
I stole her doves,” he said to himself, choking 
back a sob. “ There ’s no more use trying 
and bad, mischievous Jim sat down on the 
saw-horse and cried like a girl. 

“ There ’s no use,” he said dejectedly, after 
the first burst of grief had spent' itself. “ I 
thought I ’d try to be a good boy, and I hur- 
ried home to saw this wood that father told 
me to do yesterday. They were all so kind 
to me, and the minister told me always to 
obey father, and I thought I ’d begin right 
then, and not wait for my breakfast ; and this 
is what comes of it. They’ll never believe 
me. They’ll just think I am a sneak 
thief.” 

Poor Jim! For the next two days he 
was wretched enough. He imagined that 
every one in the village knew of the circum- 
stances of the loss of the parsonage doves, 
and believed that he had stolen them. 

Then, as time wore on, and no one spoke 
to him of it, he almost wished that some one 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 169 

would , for it seemed as if no one noticed him 
at all. The fact was that Mrs. Ray had for- 
bidden Georgie to speak of the loss, or to 
cast any suspicion upon Jim, so that no one 
knew of it. And the reason why no one 
noticed Jim was because not having the heart 
to perpetrate his usual amount of mischief, 
he failed to draw the notice to himself. 

It was with a heavy heart that the poor 
boy espied the minister’s buggy, and Daisy 
trotting briskly in the shafts, approaching 
the lane that led to Woodbine parsonage. 

“ He’ll know it all in a minute,” said Jim 
to himself. “He’ll think I’m a thief. I 
might as well be one. Just as I was trying 
to be good too! It’s too hard!” And Jim 
laid his head down on the garden gate, and 
the tears would come. An hour later he was 
startled by the hearty tones of Georgie Ray. 

“Hallo, Jim! You’re all right! Nelly 
says she never thought you took them, and 
she knows you’re noble enough to forgive 
me for saying you hooked the doves. Come 
22 


Margie Hargrave. 


170 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


on; ask your mother to let you come up with 
me to buy a gallon of molasses. We’re 
going to have a candy-pulling, and papa says 
you must come back and get your breakfast 
with him. Come on: Nell’s out on the por- 
tico now, feeding them. She’s gay!” 

“Where were the doves?” asked Jim. 

“ Oh ! where do you reckon ?” laughed 
Georgie. “You know the box under the 
buggy seat? Well, when papa came home, 
there was a nut or something loose, and he 
wanted the monkey-wrench to fix it with ; 
and so I got off the cushions and whipped up 
the cover of the box — he always keeps the 
wrench in the box — and out flew the doves, 
half starved and nearly crazy for a drink, and 
looking like a pair o’ lunatics. Oh! you 
ought to see how Cloud does look — just like 
a sick buzzard. There was a little oats in 
the box, or else they’d have died. Papa saw 
them fly in there when I ran out of the barn, 
but he supposed they’d gone out again; so 
he tossed the cover and cushions on, and 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 171 

never thought another word about it. I 
wonder he never heard the poor little things 
cooing and mourning. Wasn’t it funny, 
though ?” 

“ Not for me,” said Jim, a little gloomily. 
“Nor for the doves either,” he added more 
cheerfully. “ But I ’m very glad they ’re found. 
I ’ll ask mother to let me go. I ’m glad I 
sawed all my wood, so that I can stay to 
breakfast.” 

Such a rejoicing as there was at Wood- 
bine parsonage that night! Pastor Ray 
laughed and capered and pulled candy as 
merrily as any of them; and Nelly was so 
gay and gracious that the happy-hearted Jim 
felt nearer to paradise than he ever in the 
whole course of his mischievous life had felt 
before. 

When he told how he had suffered on 
account of the loss of the doves, and his fears 
lest every one would think him a thief, 
Georgie exclaimed, 

“You m?y thank mother and Nell that 


172 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


they didn’t. Nell would not think any bad 
thoughts of you, and mother wouldn’t let me 
say mine; but how could a fellow ever think 
of the doves going off to a Sunday-school 
convention along with the minister ?” 

And when the glee that followed Geor- 
gie’s words had subsided, the minister said, 

“ I am thankful that my little boy was pre- 
vented by his mother’s and his sister’s sweet 
charity from working any ill to his neighbor, 
who is, I trust, desirous of becoming a true 
and noble Christian lad, and a blessing to all 
of us. And to aid him, and all other aspi- 
ring boys to conquer in all their battles with 
the great enemy, let us pattern after our dear 
mother and little Nelly, for they have remem- 
bered the words of the Lord Jesus, ‘Be ye 
wise as serpents, and harmless as doves.’” 

“Is that all?” asked Eva, as Aunt Lucy 
paused. 

“Yes, dear. Is it not enough? It has 
taken me quite a while to tell it.” 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


i73 


“ Oh, it is a very nice story,” said Lily, 
“and it turns out just right. Most stories 
make the boys turn square round and act oh, 
so perfectly, all at once. I guess Jim cut 
capers many a time after he got over his 
scare about the doves. I don’t believe he 
ever got so gloomy you could n’t live in the 
house with him. I hope he didn’t, any- 
way.” 

“Is Harry that way?” asked Bert slyly. 

Lily colored. “ Harry is a good boy,” she 
said earnestly. “ If he had n’t been, I could n’t 
have been here now. He gave up his visit 
so that I could come here. But he teases 
sometimes — a little bit. And he cuts capers. 
It would be dull at our house sometimes if 
he wasn’t there. I guess he ’s just about the 
right kind of a boy generally for a brother.” 

Cousin Bessie smiled at Lily’s hearty 
commendation of Harry. “I like to hear 
your good word for the absent one,” she 
said. “ And I am glad that you do not forget 
your brother’s kind act in giving the prefer* 


*74 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


ence to his sister in the matter of the holiday 
visit. I think Harry has shown that he 
understands the practical meaning of that 
Scripture that exhorts us to ‘ Be kindly affec- 
tioned one to another, in honor preferring 
one another.’ ” 

“ Harry is never selfish,” said Lily. “ If 
he would n’t tease, and talk slang, he ’d be 
almost perfect.” And then, with a pretty 
touch of human nature, the honest little girl 
continued, “ But I suppose it ’s just as well 
he has some faults, for I might n’t like him 
half as well if he had n’t any.” 

“ I used to think you despised Harry and 
the whole lot of us,” said Dave. “ You used 
to be everlastingly coming down on us so for 
every little slip we made. I guess you are n’t 
quite so heavenly minded as you used to be. 
Are you ?” 

“Heavenly minded?” echoed Eva, in sur- 
prise. 

“ Well, no,” said Dave, “ not that exactly, 
but high and holy, like the Pharisees, you 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


75 


know. I used to think she was regular born 
kin to that old party that stood up in the 
temple and thanked God he was n’t as other 
men, and all that.” 

Lily blushed. “ Maybe I was like him,” 
she replied. “ I now try to be like the other 
person mentioned in that parable.” Then 
with a rougish smile, she added, “But ‘old 
party ’ is slang, all the same. And slang is 
unbecoming.” 

“Yes,” said Dave, “and you aren’t a bit 
Pharisaical these days, and I do n’t care now 
if you do come down on me. You have 
a better way with you now about it. I like 
you ‘lots and pastures ’ better ’n I used to. I 
shouldn’t wonder if I liked you first-rate 
now.” 

Then when the merry laugh at Dave’s 
enthusiastic profession of regard had subsi- 
ded, Cousin Bessie began her story of “ The 
Christmas Necklace.” 


i 7 6 


MARGIE HARGRAVE . 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE CHRISTMAS NECKLACE. 

Ever since May Leslie could remember 
anything, she remembered with pleasure the 
bright and glittering necklace of real gold 
beads that encircled the graceful throat of 
her favorite auntie. 

When she was a wee, toddling baby she 
had reached her tiny fingers after the shining 
globules, and crooned and cooed in her most 
fascinating baby-fashion, to the bright trin- 
kets, which, had she succeeded in detaching 
them from the fondling auntie’s neck she 
would have swallowed, most probably, one 
by one, as long as the beads and her diges- 
tion lasted. As she grew older her admira- 
tion for the glittering necklace did not in the 
least abate; and her greatest delight was to 
have the silken cord that held the yellow 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. *77 

spheres tied round her neck, for “ just one 
teenty minute.’’ 

May’s aunt was an agreeable young wom- 
an, fond of her many brothers and their sev- 
eral families of engaging little prattlers, who 
in their turn were always glad to welcome 
dear story-telling Aunt Madge to their house- 
hold circles. 

When May was about ten years old her 
aunt came to spend the holiday with the fam- 
ily of her brother Ben, May’s father. Before 
she had been an hour in the house May con- 
trived to whisper quite confidentially, “ Wont 
you let me wear your gold beads just a min- 
ute this evening, Aunt Madge ? Cousin Del 
is coming to stay all night, and I would like 
them just a little teenty tonty minute.” 

And the kind auntie had answered in an 
equally confidential manner, “Yes. All the 
evening. And I ’ll tell you and Del a story 
of blessed Christmas besides, if you ’ll coax 
papa to build a fire in the boys’ room. I 
can’t tell this story by an old black stove. 

Msivl# 23 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


178 

It needs hickory logs, and heaped up, bright 
coals, and apples toasting on a string, and 
chestnuts and popcorn popping on the 
hearth ; for it is a story of the dear old-fash- 
ioned times.” 

May fairly screamed. If there was one 
thing more delightful to her than any and all 
others, it was a “ boys’ room ” fire. The 
room itself was a long, low-ceiled apartment 
over the diningroom. The floor was covered 
with rag-carpet, and furnished with the oldest- 
fashioned furniture. Such a lofty, mahogany 
bedstead, with a pineapple on the tip of each 
post ! Such claw-footed, brass-ringed bureaus 
and stands! Such a square, stiff-backed set- 
tle! And under the broad mantel-shelf, oh! 
such a crowning glory of a fireplace ! 

The room was usually warmed in winter 
by a pipe that came through the floor from 
the stove below: but on rare occasions the 
great fireplace was filled with dry hickory- 
wood from the well-seasoned “ boys’ room 
pile.” 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


*79 


Not that there were any boys in the fam- 
ily of Mr. Benjamin Leslie. Oh, no ! Little 
May was the only child of the household. 
But the brothers — Mr. Benjamin’s and Miss 
Madge’s eight brothers, who were scattered 
far and wide indeed, but who came at odd 
times, by twos and pairs to visit the old 
homestead, and to spend a night or two in 
the room — all remembered it with a tender 
affection as the nursery of their childhood, 
and in later years as the free-and-easy den, 
sanctum, and asylum, all in one, of their 
whole boyish band. They had all gone away 
from it, but it would always be “ the boys’ 
room.” Mr. Ben kept a woodpile for the old 
fireplace, and I think he was quite right, 
when he said this Christmas Eve, as he built 
the noble fire, that sister Madge enjoyed the 
quaint comfort of the dear old room as keen- 
ly as did any of the boys. And so it chanced 
that upon Christmas Eve there was a glori- 
ous fire in the boys’ room, and May and Del, 
supplied with strings and apples and chest- 


180 MARGIE MARGRAVE. 

nuts and popcorn, wheeled up the old high- 
backed settle and nestled beside Aunt Madge, 
who, with bright eyes grown strangely dream- 
ful, watched the leaping flames dart up the 
broad chimney, and thought of happy Christ- 
mas eves so long gone by. 

“ Oh !” cried Del, quivering with delight, 
“ to-morrow will be Merry Christmas !” 

“ Aunt Madge said ‘ Blessed Christmas,’ 
when she lent me the beads,” whispered May. 

“ Yes,” said Aunt Madge, smiling upon 
the little maids. “ I was just thinking of it. 
Dear Aunt Jane’s blessed Christmas.” 

“ Who was Aunt Jane ?” asked May ; my 
Aunt Jennie ?” 

“ Oh, no,” answered her auntie. “ Nobody 
knew who she was. But let me tell my story 
properly; and to do that I shall have to go 
away back, years before you were born — or I 
either, for that matter-—” 

“ Oh, how funny !” laughed Del ; but 
Aunt Madge went on without stopping. 

“To the days of which I have so often 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 181 

heard my dear mother tell, when Leslieville 
was only a little village, in which everybody 
knew everybody else, and happy homes were 
scattered all up and down the grassy lands 
that now are paved streets. Into this quiet 
village, one sunny morning in May, came the 
stage from the West. The driver w T ound his 
horn and reined up his horses in front of the 
tavern-porch, threw off the great mail-bag, 
and then tossing the lines to the stable-boy, 
leaped from the high box, and opening the 
coach door with a ‘ Here we are, ma’am ; Les- 
lieville tavern, ma’am,’ proceeded to assist his 
solitary passenger to alight. 

“ In a few days it was noised around that 
the passenger was a person from a distant 
state, who had come to settle in Leslieville, 
and had bought the Ellis cottage, and order- 
ed furniture for it from the village cabinet- 
maker. In a small community every bit of 
news is thoroughly discussed, and you may 
be sure that the event of the new-comer’s 
arrival and intentions did not escape its share 


182 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


of village gossip. But in the weeks in which 
the stranger was occupied with fitting up her 
home, no one had discovered any more about 
her than that she bought and paid for her 
little property, and that she intended to live 
and to earn her living in Leslieville, and that 
her name was Jane Carmany. 

“ So, gradually the wonderment, for want 
of nourishment, died away, and the new- 
comer, being a good sewer, quilter, and knit- 
ter, obtained plenty of work, and was no 
longer annoyed by curious questions ; for the 
village people, as if in return for her reti- 
cence, seemed to have agreed upon giving 
her a thorough letting-alone; no one went 
near her, unless to take or receive a parcel 
of work. How long she would have lived 
this solitary life I know not, had it not 
chanced that your grandma, then a young 
and merry mother of only five boys, desired 
greatly to go on a journey to her childhood’s 
home, and was troubled about what disposi- 
tion to make of her house and home-affairs, 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 183 

and her noisy, romping boys. She had met 
Aunt Jane only on Sundays at church; she 
had spoken, in her kind, cheery way, calling 
her ‘sister,’ the first time she had met her; 
but she had never called upon her. She con- 
cluded to do so now, and forthwith put on 
her bonnet and went to see her neighbor. 

“ ‘ Good-morning, Sister Carmany,’ she 
said, as she put her smiling face in at the 
open door, on which she had lightly tapped. 
‘ I hope you are glad to see me, if I am rather 
late in making you a visit of welcome.’ 

“ Aunt Jane replied civilly if not very cor- 
dially, as she handed a chair and invited her 
guest to be seated, ‘ I suppose you have 
not needed work before.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, I have not brought work,’ my 
mother hastened to explain ; ‘ but I have 
come on a selfish errand all the same. I 
have thought it possible that you might be 
induced to come and take charge of my house 
for a few weeks, while I go on a visit to my 
mother. There are five boys, my husband, 


1 84 MARGIE HARGRAVE. 

and the help, all to be looked after. Nancy 
and Tom, the help, will do their parts well 
enough. The judge, my husband, is not the 
least trouble in the world; but he does not 
know how to attend to the boys. And, in 
fact, I could n’t think of leaving either him 
or them without some good, kind person to 
look after them, to be a mother to them while 
I ’m away from them.’ 

“My mother said that Aunt Jane looked 
keenly at her while she was speaking, and as 
she concluded said, ‘ And how do you know, 
silly little mother, that I am a good, kind 
person ?’ 

“ ‘ Oh,’ replied my honest little mother, 
‘ I do n’t, of course, know anything of the 
sort; but I’m quite willing to trust you. 
Why should I not be ?’ 

“‘Why, indeed?’ asked Sister Carmany 
in a dreamy tone, and then added in a kind 
voice, ‘Yes, dear, I’ll come, and I don’t 
doubt thAt I shall get on very well.’ 

“ And come she did. My mother went 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 185 

to Maine, and Aunt Jane ruled the house in 
her absence. It was during this visit that 
Sister Carmany obtained from my brothers 
the title that clung to her to her dying day — 
‘ Aunt Jane.’ From that time forth her posi- 
tion in Leslieville was assured. She nursed 
the sick; kept house for the mother who 
longed for a respite among her kindred far 
away; helped at the weddings and funerals, 
and in time came to be considered an indis- 
pensable aid and comfort, in times of emer- 
gency, to all the households of Leslieville. 
When I came, the last of the merry band of 
ten children that made the old homestead 
riotous with childish glee, there were nine 
boys in the family, and Aunt Jane loved them 
all ; and she loved me. She was by no means 
young when she came to Leslieville, and as a 
score of years went by, and her step grew 
more languid, people said, ‘Aunt Jane is fail- 
ing;’ but we children did not notice it. 

“ When I was about ten years of age, we 
were to have a Christmas-tree at our house, 
21 


Ma gle Hargrave. 


i£6 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


and all the cousins were to be with us on 
Christmas Eve. Aunt Jane had been help- 
ing mother for some weeks previous to the 
holidays, and had gone home for a few days, 
expecting to return to us on Christmas day. 
Mother went down to see her on the morning 
of the day before Christmas. When she re- 
turned, she told us that Aunt Jane was not 
very well, and that she wished very much 
that it were possible for me to pass the night 
with her. 

“ ‘ She seems quite anxious about it,’ said 
my mother, ‘although she knows it is useless 
to expect Madge to-night, when all the merry- 
making is to be going on.’ 

“ ‘ Madge is Aunt Jane’s pet,’ shouted my 
brothers. ‘ She ’ll get a nice Christmas-pres- 
ent from her.’ 

“‘Aunt Jane has her heart quite set on 
Madge,’ said my mother. 

“ At another time I should have felt 
pleased at these words, but now they trou- 
bled me. Dear Aunt Jane, who always came 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 187 

to me if I was sick! To think of her alone 
and ill, and longing for loving companion- 
ship in vain, on Christmas Eve. I thought 
of a hundred little kindnesses Aunt Jane had 
shown me. The pretty, blue merino frock 
that hung across the foot of the bed ready 
for my evening toilet, seemed to reproach me 
with my selfishness; for had not Aunt Jane 
diligently sewed on it that I might be happy 
in it? 

“ ‘ If you ’ll send some of the boys after 
me, mother,’ I said, ‘ I ’ll go and stay with 
Aunt Jane till supper-time.’ 

“ My mother agreed to this, and I put on 
my hooded cape and hastened to the cottage. 
Aunt Jane sat by her bright fire, knitting, as 
I put my head in at the sittingroom door. 
‘ Bless the dear child,’ she exclaimed in a 
pleased voice ; ‘ did she think so much of 
Aunt Jane as to leave the cousins and the 
tree, and the Christmas supper, to cheer the 
old woman’s lonely fireside? Bless your 
sweet face, you shall have a nice supper, and 


i88 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


shall hang up your stockings at Aunt Jane’s 
chimney; and wont we be happy, dearie?’ 

“ She thought I had come to pass the night 
with her. How could I tell her otherwise, 
and disappoint her loving heart ? I believe 
it to have been the purest and noblest act of 
my early life, that I hung up my cloak and 
said, as if no dear pleasure lay cold and dead 
in my young bosom, ‘We’ll have fine times, 
Aunt Jane ; and I ’ll be sure to wake up first in 
the morning, and wish you a merry Christmas.’ 

“ She looked at me with such a sweet con- 
tent beaming from her face, and said, ‘ Not 
merry Christmas, dear, but blessed Christmas. 
Yes, Madge, if you’re waking first, kiss me 
and wish me a blessed Christmas.’ 

“ And then she bade me lay the small, 
round table for our supper — she knew it used 
to give me such pleasure to do this for her — 
and she directed me how to make the choco- 
late, and where to find the dainties, and to 
toast the slices, and to poach the eggs; and 
last of all, gave me the key of her treasure- 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 189 

chest, and sent me for her silver cream-jug 
and sugar-tongs. When I returned with 
these, she had adorned the table with a loaf 
of frosted cake, and a glass dish of sliced 
oranges. The boys came for me just as we 
were sitting down to it. They brought a pail 
of hot oyster-soup and some celery for Aunt 
Jane. I was adroit enough to prevent them 
from betraying my intention of returning 
with them, and I managed to give Ben to 
understand that he must tell mother and the 
cousins that I ought to stay with Aunt Jane; 
she was not well enough to be left entirely 
alone, and that she wanted me to stay. 

“ How relieved I felt when I had fairly 
disposed of those boys! Such a happy time 
as Aunt Jane and I had at our little feast! 
I do not remember that she talked or ate 
much, but I know that I did both. Then I 
washed and wiped the tea-things, and brought 
a pail of water, tidied the hearth, and filled 
the fireplace with smooth, round sticks, and 
found the place in the large Bible. 


J90 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


“ Then we sat down to prayers. Aunt 
Jane and I read a verse by turn, of the lovely 
Christmas chapter, and we knelt together 
as she prayed the Lord of Christmas to come 
and live in our hearts. She kissed me ‘ Good- 
night,’ and tucked me in the soft, warm bed, 
and I fell asleep, while yet she lingered at the 
fireside, reading the pages of the blessed book. 
I woke once in the night, and saw her still 
sitting at the table. She was singing in a 
low, clear voice, a verse of an old hymn : 

“ ‘ Firm as a rock his promise stands, 

And he can well secure 
What I ’ve committed to his hands, 

Till the decisive hour.’ 

“ ‘ Is it blessed Christmas yet, Aunt Jane ?’ 
I asked. She turned towards me with a 
smile and answered, ‘Blessed Christmas;’ 
and then bowed her head upon the table, I 
supposed, to breathe a ‘ Good-night ’ prayer ; 
and again I dropped into the sound sleep of 
childhood. 

“ When I awoke the sun was shining full 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 191 

in the window. Aunt Jane was sitting with 
bowed head at the little table. I sprang out 
of bed and called out gleefully, ‘ Blessed 
Christmas, Aunt Jane. I wish you a blessed 
Christmas!’ and ran and touched her hand. 
It was icy cold ! I started back in alarm. 
As I did so my eyes fell on my stockings. 
They were full, and from one of them a little 
slip of paper was depending. 

“‘Aunt Jane!’ I cried, ‘wake up! See 
my stockings ! They are brimful !’ 

“ But there was no response or movement. 
In terror I ran to the street-door and cried 
to the neighbors across the way. They came 
in answer to my summons. One of the wom- 
en emptied my stockings upon the tea-tray, 
and drew them on my chilled feet, and hastily 
dressed me and sent me home for my mother. 

“ ‘ Aunt Jane is with the Lord,’ she said, 
as she tried to soothe me, for I was crying 
bitterly. ‘ It is indeed a blessed day for her. 
Do not cry, Madge. Here is a note she has 
left for you. It was pinned on your stock- 


192 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


in g. I will take care of your presents for you, 
and one of your brothers can come for them.’ 

“ I ran home with the sad tidings, and my 
mother, taking Ben with her, went at once 
to the cottage. I remember that I cried al- 
most all the morning, and could not listen to 
the boys’ account of the merry-making of the 
night before. When my mother returned 
home, in time to assist at the spreading of the 
Christmas dinner-table, I wondered that she 
could go about so cheerfully. Ben brought 
me the little covered basket. ‘Aunt Jane’s 
Christmas gifts to you,’ he said. I opened it, 
and drew forth its now to me sacred con- 
tents. A lovely white apron, with ruffled 
pockets ; soft, warm mittens, stockings, and a 
comfort, of Aunt Jane’s own knitting; a few 
yards of rare, old lace, marked, ‘ For Madge’s 
wedding-gown ’ — I have it yet; six silver tea- 
spoons, the pretty cream-jug and sugar-tongs, 
and this necklace of gold beads.” 

“ Ah,” said May, “ what lovely Christmas 
presents.” 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


*93 


“ My mother said that Aunt Jane had 
left a copy of her will lying between the 
pages of her open Bible. In it she had re- 
membered all her friends. Her personal 
property she had divided up into love-tokens 
for each. Her cottage she had left to a poor 
widow who had lately lost her son — her 
only dependence — and who, in better days, 
had been a stanch friend of Aunt Jane. But 
for this provision she would have been thrown 
upon the charities of the village.” 

“ What was in your note ?” asked Del. 

“ I forgot all about my note, until my 
mother mentioned the will. Then I drew it 
from my pocket. It ran thus : 

“ ‘ Dear Little Madge : Be very happy 
when you tie this necklace around your 
throat. It is Aunt Jane’s most valued earth- 
ly treasure. Wear it for my sake, as I have 
always worn it for the sake of one whom I 
shall soon greet in heaven. I had thought 
never to part with these gold beads, but to 
wear them to my grave. I loose them from 
25 


Muf.'ift Hargrave. 


194 


MARGIE HARGRA VE. 


the neck they have encircled for forty years, 
to eive them as a last love-token to the dear 
child who gave up her own merry Christmas, 
that she might add to the happiness of a 
lonely old woman. I give them with my 
blessing, and may the mercy of the Lord of 
Christmas add to it the blessing that maketh 
rich and He addeth no sorrow therewith.’ 

“ I can never tell how glad I was that I 
had neither selfishly remained at home, nor 
returned to the merry-making. I cried to 
think how Aunt Jane might have spent her 
last Christmas eve on earth in disappointed 
solitude. I went to my room, and holding 
the precious beads in my fingers, I prayed 
the Lord to help me by this gift, to remember 
always to live, caring more for others’ happi- 
ness than for my own. I truly believe that 
these gold beads were blessed to me, and be- 
came a constant unselfish reminder ; for when- 
ever in all my life I have been tempted to 
please myself at some cost to another, I have 
seemed to feel the gentle pressure of the 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


x 95 


necklace at my throat, and I recall that bless- 
ed Christmas and my childish prayer ; and by 
its memories I am helped and strengthened 
to deny myself. 

“ Christmas is the time above all others, 
when we should think much of Him who 
‘pleased not himself;’ and she who wears 
upon her heart a rosary of unselfish thoughts 
will find this sweetest and most gracious 
day of all the year not only a gladsome 
holiday, but in very truth a holy day — a 
blessed Christmas.” 

“ Is that all the story ?” asked May, as 
Aunt Madge paused. 

“ All there is to be told , dear. There may 
be somewhat for you to think out for your- 
selves to-morrow.” 

And then, the bright coals glowing cheer- 
fully on the hearth, the little girls hung up 
the apples, and popped their corn and chest- 
nuts with a right good will, until bedtime. 
In the morning they were overjoyed to find 
among their gifts two lovely necklaces of 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


196 

alabaster beads, with a locket attached to 
each. Upon a slip of paper which enclosed 
each beautiful present, was written in Aunt 
Madge's fair script, 

ec QA^ec^/ace. ” 

1 Ah !” said Del, as she clasped the neck- 
lace round her throat, “ I know now what 
there was for us ‘ to think out ’ of the story 
of blessed Christmas. Auntie meant that 
we should have something to help us to re- 
member to live for others instead of for our- 
selves.” 

“Yes,” said May, “it must be that.” 
Then in a low voice she added, “ Come, Del, 
let us do as auntie did. Let us go and ask 
the Lord of Christmas to bless our Christmas 
necklaces.” 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


197 


CHAPTER XII. 

HAPPY NEW YEAR. 

The clock on the mantel showed that in 
five minutes more the New Year would be 
begun. 

“ Let us spend these last few moments of 
the year in prayer,” said Aunt Lucy gently. 

They knelt. There was a moment spent 
in silent prayer, and then Aunt Lucy led 
them in an earnest plea to God for a special 
blessing upon every member of the worship- 
ping circle, that this year so soon to dawn 
upon them might prove not only a happy 
New Year, but a new year blessed with a 
heavenly grace, the beginning of a life of 
greater love and consecration to the service 
of the King. 

All together, at the close of Aunt Lucy’s 
petition, they repeated the Lord’s Prayer, 
and while the “ Amen ” was yet upon their 


MARGIE HARGRAVE. 


lips, the silvery-toned clock rang out the old 
year’s knell. And with cheerful voices they 
sang the New Year’s hymn. 

Come let us anew 
Our journey pursue, 

Roll round with the year 
And never stand still till the Master appear. 

His adorable will 

Let us gladly fulfil 

And our talents improve, 

With the patience of hope, and the labor of love. 

Our life is a dream; 

Our time, as a stream, 

Rolls quickly away ; 

The fugitive moment refuses to stay. 

The arrow is flown — 

Man’s life it is gone — 

The millennial year 

Rushes on to our view, and eternity’s here. 

Oh, that each in the day 
Of His coming may say, 

“ I have fought my way through, 

I have finished the work thou didst give me to do.” 
Oh, that each from his Lord 
May receive the glad word* 

“ Well and faithfully done, 

Enter into my joy, and sit down on my throne.” 


THE PERCY CHILDREN. 


199 


“ I wish you all a happy New Year,” said 
Aunt Lucy cheerily. “And I wish you, as 
my best desire, the realization of the blessing 
expressed in the hymn you have just sung. 
Time is short. Eternity will soon be here. 
‘ Choose you this day whom you will serve.’ ” 
There were tears in Aunt Lucy’s eyes, 
though a smile was on her lips as she urged 
her affectionate appeal. Lily’s voice trem- 
bled, but she looked sweetly up into Aunt 
Lucy’s face, and said, “ Thank you, Aunt 
Lucy; and I wish you, and all of us a happy 
New Year. And I have already chosen.” 

“ And so have I,” said Eva. “And I wish 
you all a happy, happy New Year. I made 
up my mind while Aunt Lucy was praying. 
I mean to be a Christian. Boys, if I do n’t 
act like one, from this time on, you must 
remind me — and — pray for me. Wont you ?” 
Bert and Ben and Dave looked very sober. 
“ I guess I ’d better be one myself, before 
I go to praying for other folks,” at length 
said Dave. 


200 


MARGIE MARGRAVE. 


“ Do be one, Dave dear,” whispered 
Cousin Bessie. 

“Well, I’ll try, any way,” said Dave, 
glancing at Lily. “ Lily ’s a sight more agree- 
able than she used to be. She acts like a 
Christian about every little thing too.” 

“ And we ’ll help one another,” added 
Ben brightly. And there was joy at Wood- 
lawn in the dawn of that happy New Year’s 
morning ; joy in heaven, among the angels of 
God too, we doubt not, for some at least of 
the dear children had heard the call of the 
children’s Friend, and answered, as may each 
reader of this little book answer to the gra- 
cious call : “ Lord, here am I.” 



















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